


The Kenma Project

by Stylin_Breeze



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Scientists, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Alternate Universe - War, Conspiracy, Genetic Engineering, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mentions of Erectile Dysfunction, Next Generation Captains (Haikyuu!!), Non-Chronological, Nudity in one chapter, Relationship Problems, Some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-07-18 12:12:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16118207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stylin_Breeze/pseuds/Stylin_Breeze
Summary: Entrapped by a mixture of their own mistakes and the machinations of a dubious government, Terushima, Yahaba, and Futakuchi embark on a mission to save themselves and salvage a war...only for things to prove much larger than they imagined.A spy mystery starring the Next Gen Captains





	1. The End of Ordinary Days

**Author's Note:**

> You can thank Aki_teru for this. If he hadn't said my weird dream sounded like an "amazing fanfic waiting to happen," none of this would have come to fruition.
> 
> This was posted for the Johzenji Next Gen Captains Day (September 29, 2018). I plan to add chapters coinciding with various Next Gen Captain events through next summer. This means there will be about 1-2 months between chapters with most chapters focusing on a different character. The next installment, centered on Ennoshita, is planned for late November.

It felt like a perfectly ordinary day. That’s what was so strange as Yuuji Terushima lay in bed amidst the soothing sunlight filtering through the curtains. He checked his alarm clock to make sure it wasn’t a dream. Nope, 7:02 a.m., and he felt no different.

He forced himself out of bed, with a little less resistance than usual, and went about his routine. He was so sure after the news from Futamata yesterday that he’d feel some novel, sprightly energy, but the day felt quite normal. The shower water in his apartment was still slightly hotter than he wanted, and he still had to brush his teeth and shear his stubble over the same impeccably scrubbed sink.

When he thought about it rationally, there was no reason he should feel any different. His efforts (and Futamata’s with a handful of others) had invented an antibiotic that could potentially eradicate malaria by altering the virus’s genome. The first prototype, Futamata confirmed last evening, was ready for testing. It was an unprecedented breakthrough, the pinnacle of a painstaking career studying DNA. It was so monumental a feat that, as far as Terushima was concerned, it didn’t matter that he’d acquired the research for the proto-vaccine through technically illicit means.

As he got dressed, the familiar hum of traffic and pedestrians sounded distinctly normal too, despite the existence of a nearly global war going on. Terushima attributed the constant ease in the city to the fortune of currently residing in a country that was officially neutral—“officially” because everyone knew which side they were actively supporting, but that fact didn’t faze the average citizen one bit.

In one sense, it was all getting a bit boring.

Alas, the incessant monotony couldn’t be helped. Yuuji had to get back to his lab at the national Department of Health to continue his _real_ contribution to this research project. And so, he wrestled his head through his shirt and adjusted the collar to his liking.

Yup, today would be just another ordinary day.             

Suddenly all went black. His breaths gasped against a hood thrown over his face. He flailed as someone—multiple people—throttled him to the floor, hoisted him up, and escorted him away.

 

After being marched, driven, and paraded again, Yuuji Terushima was finally unhooded in a chair before a large round table in a drab, glossy room. Instantly he noticed he was not the only person here under similar circumstances. Two pairs of eyes seated adjacent ogled the new arrival, the nearer person nonchalantly relaxing with hands in pockets, the farther slouching with crossed arms and one foot propped on the table’s edge. The former bore a look that said, “Oh, another one?” while the latter appeared abjectly disinterested.

The people who'd brought him into the space proceeded to scan a badge on a card reader and exit a sliding door that swooshed shut behind them. Terushima warily glanced over the various personnel in military police garb poised along the walls in stock-still poses.

Before long, the door swooshed open, announcing a stern copper-haired man with a bowl cut in a prim purple military uniform—the national colors of Shiratorizawa, the country in which Yuuji had been temporarily working. By his livery’s accoutrements, he was evidently a maritime officer of high rank. He marched to the opposite end of the table, hands joined behind back, and sharply rotated to face the three seated men. Contrary to himself, Yuuji judged the two men beside him to be more perturbed than perplexed.

“Kenji Futakuchi…Shigeru Yahaba…Yuuji Terushima,” the officer said, casting his eyes over each in turn. Futakuchi and Yahaba appeared almost disdainful. “I am Admiral Kenjirou Shirabu, and as you can tell, I’m with the Shiratorizawan Navy. All of you know why you were brought here, and all of you know the consequences of refusal to cooperate in what I am about to tell you.”

Yuuji blinked. He’d figured his arrest (if you could call it that) was related to the vaccine, but the apparent involvement of the _navy_ in his detention made that seem somewhat unlikely. In any case, he spotted Yahaba sink deeper into his chair.

“You are aware of the current state of the war engulfing most of the world,” Adm. Shirabu continued. “No progress has been made to liberate Datekou, and neither the Miyagi Alliance nor the Tokyo Entente are capable of opening additional fronts on each other’s continents. The war is at a stalemate…but not for long.”

He furrowed his brow, as if to signify now was the time to listen closely.

“Intelligence indicates that Nekoma, Fukurodani, and Nohebi are cosponsoring a venture called the Kenma Project. Nothing is known about this project, other than it is believed to be a new weapon that would turn the tide of war irreversibly in Tokyo’s favor.” He made successive eye contact with the three men as he splayed his palms on the table. “The three of you are to use your individual talents to infiltrate the lab where the Kenma Project is being developed, find out what it is—its nature, potential, application, and expected completion date—steal that information, and ultimately sabotage it.”

Yuuji’s eyebrows rose. A blatant espionage mission? How on earth had he gotten mixed up in something like this?! He could admit there was some thrill to the whole top-secret mission idea, but he was still aghast at the whole predicament to begin with.

“My government will provide the intelligence we have on the Kenma Project and will assist in deploying some of you in Tokyo, but beyond that, you are on your own and have total freedom as to how you accomplish this mission,” Shirabu concluded as he rose to his firm posture again. “You may ask any questions now as this will likely be the last time we see each other. If it touches on information I cannot give, I will say so.”

Futakuchi, totally unmoved the entire time, darted his torso forward. “I got one. Shiratorizawa’s supposed to be neutral, so how come you’re asking us to commit an act of war?”

It was a fair critique. The conflict began when Nekoma and Fukurodani on the Tokyo continent invaded the large island nation of Datekou off the coast of Miyagi. Datekou beseeched the aid of its mainland allies, and the nations of Karasuno, Seijoh, and Johzenji formed the Miyagi Alliance. The other great Tokyo power, Nohebi, in turn threw its support behind Nekoma and Fukurodani. Shiratorizawa—boasting arguably the world’s most powerful military—remained officially unaligned, but it was an open secret that its navy and air force were assisting the Miyagi Alliance.

After a momentary stare, Admiral Shirabu shut his eyes calmly and replied. “I cannot answer that. Next.” He gazed at the scowling person in the center, Yahaba.

“Who’s going to benefit from this?”

“The war effort,” Shirabu answered confidently. “In other words, your home countries.”

“But _who_ is going to benefit?” Yahaba pressed. Undoubtedly the information they’d be stealing was going to someone in particular, and Terushima wished to know the answer as well.

“I cannot answer that,” the admiral again said with closed eyes. “Anyone else?” His gaze now fell on Terushima, whose demeanor he immediately could tell was the least defiant. Terushima inhaled firmly and decided now was the chance to get some answers.

“Yeah. You say we know why we’re here and what’ll happen if we refuse, but I’m totally clueless, you know? That, and you tell us we have to use our individual talents to work together, but I’ve never seen these two before in my life. How am I supposed to know what they can do, huh?”

Shirabu took a moment before tilting his head.

“Fair point,” he replied. Indeed the three men hadn’t been properly introduced and perhaps how much jeopardy they were in wasn’t as self-evident as he’d hoped. “All right. Kenji Futakuchi,” he addressed. The man sank back into his chair. “You were a counterfeiter and money launderer before the war, engaged especially in the smuggling of Tokyo migrants into Datekou. You arranged items such as identification documents, passports, cash, customs forms, and transportation services. After the invasion, you were arrested by the occupational government for anti-Tokyo activities and sentenced to be executed. You were incidentally freed in the course of a special forces operation to liberate an interned Datekou dignitary, but your government then charged you over your prewar activities. If you refuse to cooperate, you will be remanded to your government for prosecution.”

Futakuchi’s arms remained stolidly crossed, and Terushima deduced the man indeed already figured out his situation without the admiral’s intercession.

Shirabu turned now to the center man. “Shigeru Yahaba: you were a computer programmer in Seijoh working for an internet security firm, but your real job was hacking. You are behind the creation of several high-profile computer viruses, including three ransomware attacks in the last five years, one of which shut down international commerce for a day. You were recently indicted in Shiratorizawa and arrested, and if you refuse to cooperate on this mission, you will be referred for trial with a maximum sentence of 225 years in prison. You cannot expect your government to come to your aid because, as you know, they willingly deported you here.”

Yahaba fiercely scowled. His extradition was processed so patently illegally that he always knew someone in Shiratorizawa was pulling the strings.

Now the admiral again turned to Yuuji, the “cleanest” of the bunch. It was time, the admiral estimated, to reveal just how much he knew about the supposedly hapless scientist.

“Yuuji Terushima: you are a highly respected and accomplished researcher specializing in biology and genetics. You have been a partner on numerous critical advances in genetic engineering and most recently were recruited as a fellow on a project sponsored by the Shiratorizawan Department of Health studying the gene sequence of the malaria virus.

“However,” his eyebrows furrowed critically. The accusative glare made Terushima gulp. “Your lifelong work has not been wholly altruistic. While you conducted yourself sincerely on all projects throughout your career, you have consistently pilfered research samples and data from assignments and maintained them for your personal use, even when said data and materials were not yours for the taking. Just recently, Futamata Pharmaceuticals, a company run by your friend in which you are a primary shareholder, developed a potential cure for malaria using the information you swiped from my government.

“Now consider the manner in which you were detained. You were brought here directly because the matter has not yet been referred to the police, but make no mistake.” His glare narrowed. “If you decline this mission, you will be prosecuted for espionage, and not just you but your friend Futamata and anyone associated with the vaccine. Don’t expect your government to protect you. As in Yahaba’s case too, Johzenji is entirely beholden to Shiratorizawa for military support and won’t jeopardize that relationship to save a few rogue scientists. I have no doubt your vaccine could save millions of lives, but if you don’t cooperate in this, I guarantee you it will never see the light of day.”

Shirabu’s aura was one of such grave cruelty and seriousness it left Terushima so bewildered he wanted to flee. He bore no doubt the admiral could suppress the vaccine if he felt like it; he already demonstrated the power to just up and abduct someone on a weekday morning and ostensibly get away with it.

Recognizing that the scientist understood his predicament now, Shirabu once again turned his attention on all three.

“Naturally, your cooperation and the successful accomplishment of this mission will spare all of you from the consequences I have just outlined.” Futakuchi grimaced. That confirmed his theory that the charges levied against him were at Shiratorizawa’s instigation.

Yahaba sat forward, placing his elbows on the table and folding his hands as a bed for his chin. “What happens if not all of us agree?” he queried.

“That depends,” Shirabu said, shooting glances between the other two, “whether the other two decline.”

“I’m in,” spat Futakuchi, kicking his foot from the table edge and leaning forward.

“Me too,” Yahaba shrugged and then glanced at the third subject in the room. The admiral’s piercing eyes fell on Terushima too, sending another chill down Yuuji’s spine.

“I’m in,” he muttered. “But I have one more question.”

“Go ahead,” Kenjirou authorized.

“You’re right I’m the greatest scientist ever,” Yuuji sneered. Shirabu’s forehead wrinkled. That was not the turn of phrase he’d used, and it reminded him how much he resented cocksure types like Terushima. “I’m well versed in a lot of fields of study, but my specialty is genetics. Wouldn’t you benefit more from an expert in weaponry?”

Shirabu closed his eyes coyly as he had been apt to do. “I have no comment on that”—his eyelids popped open again—“only to say that you three were chosen for a reason. But now our time is up. You will be shortly outfitted for the mission, and as should be manifestly clear, failure is not a viable option.”

 

“Whoaaaaaa,” Terushima said in awe at the scuba gear disintegrating in the beach surf. “It really does dissolve.”

“Yup,” Futakuchi grinned, tossing his own wetsuit into the drift. “There won’t be any trace of it.” A week after their fateful meeting with Adm. Shirabu, the pair were now on the eastern shore of Fukurodani having been dropped off by a Shiratorizawan submarine in the dead of night. Terushima peered up the circular rocks piled beneath the pier while Futakuchi recovered a manila envelope from inside his dry garments and handed it to Terushima.

“Here. That packet contains everything you need. The first piece of paper has the address of your new apartment in Itachiyama. The key, rental paperwork, and insurance are in there too. The key fob is for your car, which should be parked a block and a half north of here. The credit card is secured by the main bank of Fukurodani and is accepted everywhere. You’ll also find your identification badge for the lab with directions on how to get there. There’s also a fake birth certificate, passport, and driver’s license with your new alias.”

Terushima gaped at all the paraphernalia. “Teruji Yuushima,” he read on the IDs.

“This is amazing,” he gasped. How the man had arranged all this in just a week’s time was incomprehensible.

Futakuchi smirked proudly; it wasn’t often he got compliments on his handiwork. “I know a lot of people in a lot of places,” he chimed.

Terushima pulled a cell phone from his pocket. It was a basic flip phone proffered by Shiratorizawa. He checked the contacts and found it already loaded with a variety of numbers for his workplace. Futakuchi rubbed the back of his head and sighed.

“In any case, this might be the last time we see each other. Yahaba found another lead in the stuff Shirabu sent over, so I’m going to investigate that. See you around, maybe.”

He didn’t wait for a goodbye and began to walk south between the wooden columns of the pier.

The car was exactly where Futakuchi said it would be, and Terushima felt a rush of relief when the fob unlocked the door. He sat in the driver’s seat and hunched over the steering wheel. Again he wondered how he’d gotten involved in this; and realizing the magnitude of what he was doing, and how hostile everyone around would be if they found out sent a terrifying chill down his spine.

But he wasn’t actually afraid. In fact, he was rather excited. Shirabu was right about his past, and he’d snuck out specimens and terabytes of data from guarded facilities before. This mission just felt like the final boss of a videogame. He now understood that experience was why Shirabu selected him for the mission.

After all, it couldn’t be because of his field of expertise, right?

 

After making it to Itachiyama and finding his new apartment, Terushima was again astounded at Futakuchi’s abilities when he found the wardrobe fully stocked with lab coats and other garments in his perfect size. The city was a sprawling metropolis, home to the world-renowned Itachiyama University, one of the leading institutions on medical science. Terushima recalled that the foremost expert on genetic engineering, Dr. Kiyoomi Sakusa, taught there for two decades. On the spot, he couldn’t rightly recall what happened to Dr. Sakusa over the last five years or so.

The laboratory where the Kenma Project was being undertaken was a massive facility constructed on a military base. Yuuji pulled up to the facility’s front gates on his first day of work and displayed a badge at the gate for entry. Once inside, he followed Futakuchi’s directions to the designated parking area and then proceeded to the building marked “Lab 3.”

All non-military personnel entering the structure were required to undergo screening. This was the most difficult part of the planning as, in order to best coordinate with Yahaba while inside the lab, Yuuji planned to wear a wireless earpiece and camera. Yahaba had already figured out the security protocols and instructed Yuuji on how to disassemble the equipment and distribute it between his bag and person to go undetected. Terushima placed his shoulder case onto the scanner and stepped through the screener with a fluid motion. As he’d learned from his previous smuggling efforts, the trick was to let the guards do their work and not be nervous. His black carrycase slid out of the scanner innocuously. Terushima put the lanyard with his work badge around his neck and took the case to begin his first day of work.

There was one civilian allowed to bypass all security procedures, and Terushima spotted him arrive now: the head scientist of the lab and the man believed in charge of the Kenma Project, Dr. Keiji Akaashi. He approached with a wide smile and was greeted with a friendly welcome from the guards who let him through. He then started to chat with an officer holding an assault rifle whom Yuuji recognized from Yahaba’s notes as Suguru Daishou, the base’s Nohebi-born head of security. As Terushima turned to depart, he didn’t notice Akaashi spotting him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Terushima twirled to find the grinning doctor looking right at him.

“I’m Dr. Akaashi,” Keiji said extending a hand, which Yuuji shook. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor…” He focused on Yuuji’s badge.

“Yuushima,” Yuuji answered with an assertive grin. Keiji’s eyebrows momentarily shot up, but he remained friendly.

“What project are you assigned to?” Akaashi inquired.

“C-2,” stated Yuuji, using the codename for his assigned project. According to Yahaba’s notes, it was a comparison of the effectiveness of certain herbicides on tropical vegetation. All of the projects here had alphanumeric codes, and in Shirabu’s intelligence, the Kenma Project was referred to as “D-9.”

“Ah, yes,” Akaashi replied. “I heard you had some setbacks the other day. How are those going?”

Yuuji wanted to simper. The amount of detail Yahaba had acquired was astounding, and it was enough for him to know exactly what Keiji was referring to. “We resolved it with the new shipment. All’s good,” he grinned slyly.

“Excellent. Well, you probably already know this, but Dr. Komi can be a bit of a jokester, but don’t take him too seriously,” Akaashi smiled and thumped Terushima on the back. “I might see you around.” He waved and parted down a corridor.

Terushima was proud how well he’d maintained his composure. That man just now was the brainchild behind Kenma and knew everything about whatever Kenma was. If push came to shove, kidnapping wasn’t out of the question. But abducting the scientist was scrapped during preplanning as too risky and not feasible; and instead, it was decided the best course of action was to avoid Keiji Akaashi altogether if at all possible. The interaction seemed to have gone well though, and he could only be grateful for that.

 

Stepping into the restroom, Terushima proceeded to reassemble Yahaba’s equipment. The earpiece was disguised as an earring that sent signals directly to the auditory cortex of the brain—it was impossible for anyone except Terushima to hear Yahaba speak. Once in place, he activated it and went about setting up the camera, disguised as a pen that could be placed in his lab coat pocket.

“Yahaba, can you hear me?”

“ _You got that set up faster than I expected,_ ” Yahaba’s voice resounded. It was almost like receiving a telepathic message. Yahaba stayed behind in Seijoh, operating out of his old home, under covert Shiratorizawan scrutiny. There was a five-hour time difference between Seijoh and the city of Itachiyama, so it was already early afternoon for Shigeru, and Yahaba had just started a second cup of coffee—the thing he missed most since his arrest. Yahaba took a sip of the mug before continuing. “ _What’s your IQ?_ ”

“158,” replied Yuuji.

“ _I bet it’s over 160,_ ” the voice in his head countered.

Terushima smirked. “You’d be right.” A little modesty didn’t hurt anyone, but if he was going to get called on it, he wasn’t going to be shy.

After testing the camera, Yuuji proceeded to a door with a card reader and badged in. The reader chimed, and the door opened.

“Whoa, it really works,” he said staring at the counterfeit badge. “Did Futakuchi really do all this?”

“ _Yup,_ ” Yahaba answered, comforting his coffee cup with both hands while looking over schematics to disarm the lab’s security system when the time came. “ _Shirabu made Futakuchi sound like a small-timer, but I looked him up. He’s actually connected to a few high-profile heists._ ”

Before long, they deactivated the comm so Yahaba could get into the nitty-gritty of cyber-sabotage. He promised he’d have everything disarmed by end of business, and so in the meantime, Terushima went about his day: engaging in normal research, meeting the rumored Dr. Komi (with whom he felt intimately familiar from Yahaba’s character sketches), and conducting research. The current batch of pesticide was even more virulent than Terushima or anyone on the team expected. Komi was impressed with how much Terushima knew about the native vegetation (Johzenji had some tropical regions, and he studied horticulture in university there) and left the newbie to finish tabulating the data at the end of the day. Then he was alone. He reactivated the comm.

“You there?”

“ _Done watching plants die?_ ” Shigeru sarcastically asked.

“I hope they don’t deploy this stuff in real life,” an apprehensive Yuuji mumbled, wishing no misfortune to befall his homeland.

“ _How’s the weather in Johzenji?_ ” Yahaba suddenly asked as Terushima began shutting down his lab for the night.

“Wonderful,” he said blandly, concentrating more on making sure everything was logged off properly. Yahaba took a sip of his fifth coffee.

“ _Maybe I’ll move there after this mess,_ ” he floated. It was after 5pm in Itachiyama but past 10 o’clock in Seijoh. Yahaba now stretched his fingers and began typing feverishly to circumvent anything keeping Terushima out of the laboratory housing D-9. He had already spent part of the day determining how to disarm the CCTV feed without anyone noticing and proceeded to execute the measures now. By the time Terushima reached the first secured entrance to D-9, the cameras were useless.

“ _I updated your access levels, so just scan your badge and go in._ " Terushima did so and sure enough was granted access. The projects in the “D” part of the lab were fairly perplexing, and Terushima passed several secure rooms until he reached a door with a retinal and fingerprint scanner restricting access to Kenma in particular. It was the highest security for the entire complex. Yahaba assured beforehand that he would just trick the various pieces of equipment into unlocking the door without any inputs from Yuuji, but he warned it could take a while and had to be done with Terushima ready to enter immediately. Yahaba took another sip and frowned at his computer screen that streamed blue light into his pitch black room. Terushima listened to the man’s chatter as he successively disabled layer upon layer of firewalls:

“ _OK, now you don’t want to give me access, but if I do this, and this, and then you’re gone. So now I need to go here, and, sorry: no. And now here, and: no. And you, no. And no to you. And no. And no. And no. And no. And no. And no. And no. Aaaaaaaaand…no to you as well. All right! Now switch this, and voila: door unlockie!_ ”

Terushima heard the reader beep, and the sliding door slowly parted to allow Yuuji entrance. It closed promptly behind him.

No ceiling lights were on in the lab, but it was not totally dark. Along with various glowing screens and keyboards, the space was illuminated by gigantic liquid-filled cylinders, three feet above the ground and stretching 8-11 feet high. Terushima gaped in awe at the tanks, some of which were filled with unusual organisms suspended in the liquid by various tubes. He began to patter slowly through the lab, occasionally stopping to read computer monitors, trying to make sense of everything around.

“You seeing all this?” Terushima said aloud, turning his torso so that the pen in his pocket could film the incubation tanks.

“ _Yea—oh bollocks!_ ”

“Yahaba?” Terushima called. There was no reply. “Hey. Can you hear me?”

Again no reply. Terushima gulped and glanced at the security camera above the door he’d entered by. He inhaled firmly and marched onward.

10-15 seconds passed before Yahaba’s voice came back into comprehension. “ _Terushima, you there?_ ”

“Yeah. What happened?”

Yahaba scowled, holding his coffee as his PC booted up in front of him. “ _My city instituted a mandatory blackout after 10pm. I guess my house was drawing too much from the grid, so they cut power. My UPS is running now, and I should be back into everything in just a minute._ ”

“Wait, what about the cameras?” Terushima fretted.

“ _Don’t worry about it. The outage won’t affect my handiwork. But I’m blind at the moment, so if you die in the next thirty seconds, I can’t do anything about it._ ”

“I didn’t think you _could_ do anything about me dying,” Yuuji wryly replied.

Yahaba quickly slurped. “ _Don’t doubt my power._ ” Once the desktop appeared, he set down the mug to reopen the programs. “ _I’m almost back up. Everything looks normal still. Bear in mind I can’t tell if anyone else entered the lab while I was down, so be careful._ ”

Yuuji gulped again, fighting a dry throat—but his anxiety stemmed more from the increasingly gross-looking creatures on display the deeper he got into the lab. He took another turn through the maze of tanks and chanced upon a large one at the center of the room.

What was inside stopped him dead in his tracks.

“ _All right. I’ve got video again—and what the hey is that!_ ”

Terushima gawped at the thing before him. Floating in the spacious tank was a nude male human being, its mouth attached to a respirator. Terushima estimated the person’s height at around 5’7”. He looked like someone you’d see on the streets except for the unusual fact the outer two-thirds of his hair were blond, but closer to the scalp it was black.

Terushima waddled closer and peered over the data on the interface at the foot of the tank.

“Yahaba, are you seeing this?”

“ _Of course, you idiot. So is that… ‘Kenma’?_ ”

Terushima swiped along the touchscreen, speedreading over the data. It was all calculations for genetic splicing and accelerated cell mutation.

It was the very stuff he was familiar with from years of research.

“So that’s what Kenma is. It’s not a weapon. They’re growing artificial humans.”

“ _Hey. Don’t get caught up in it and forget to insert the drive_ ,” Yahaba reminded. Terushima inserted a USB underneath the display so Shigeru could begin cracking the encryption. In the meantime, Yuuji peered over his shoulder at some of the mutations around. Some looked like fetuses and mutant infants; others had scales, malformed limbs, or abnormal skin growth. He realized everything else in here were failed prototypes.

At the moment though, he cared less about the failures and wondered what had succeeded to produce the apparently “finished product” in the main tank. When he turned back, he was startled to find that the man’s eyelids had slightly opened for a reason Terushima wasn’t sure.

Staring back were not human eyes; they were the eyes of a cat.

Terushima mentally retracted his earlier judgment that the subject appeared perfectly normal and scrolled some more, soon becoming enrapt in the hypotheses therein.

“I don’t believe it. This is the most advanced genetic work I’ve ever seen.”

“W _hile you’re at it, can you fix the gene in charge of hair color, cos that ain’t normal,_ ” Yahaba cracked. Terushima continued to scroll, each second becoming even more awed by the mind of Dr. Akaashi.

“No way! Some of this is stuff I theorized about but didn’t have any way to test! This is freakin’ amazing!”

“ _OK, you sound like you’re getting turned on by the guy in the incubation tank, and it’s creeping me out. I cleared the permissions. Can you start transferring the data?_ ”

“Yeah, yeah, in a minute,” Terushima said with a hypnotic grin, continuing to soak in the math before him.

Then another voice announced itself in the room: “Beautiful, isn’t he?”

Yuuji literally yelped and spun around. Before him stood a simpering Akaashi, flanked by Daishou and several guards with assault rifles.

“I hate to inform you, but this isn’t C-2, Dr. Yuushima,” Akaashi calmly said. His simper grew even wider. “Or, should I say, Yuuji Terushima.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look for the next chapter around November 24 on Karasuno Next Gen Captain Day. Also visit my tumblr here for a world map of the AUverse: https://stylinbreeze60.tumblr.com/post/178573742458/rough-map-for-my-next-gen-captains-war-au-the
> 
> Let me know what you think so far.


	2. Hesitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chikara Ennoshita wasn't supposed to be here, and he only wished he knew why he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick housekeeping. Despite earlier saying Ennoshita was the president of Karasuno, I have changed that detail for the benefit of the whole story. I hate retconning, but this is for the greater good.  
> And now, my attempt to imitate the recaps of American TV serial dramas:
> 
> -  
>  _Previously on the Kenma Project:_  
>  Shirabu: “The three of you are to use your individual talents to find out what the Kenma Project is…steal that information, and ultimately sabotage it.”
> 
> Shirabu: “Kenji Futakuchi: …You were arrested by the occupational government and…were incidentally freed in the course of a special forces operation to liberate an interned Datekou dignitary….”
> 
> Shirabu: “Shigeru Yahaba: You were a computer programmer in Seijoh…but your real job was hacking…. You were recently indicted in Shiratorizawa and arrested….”
> 
> Futakuchi: “Yahaba found another lead in the stuff Shirabu sent over, so I’m going to investigate that….”
> 
> Yahaba: “My city instituted a mandatory blackout after 10pm. I guess my house was drawing too much from the grid, so they cut power….”  
>    
> Before Yuuji stood a simpering Akaashi, flanked by Daishou and several guards with assault rifles.  
> -
> 
> And now, Chapter 2:

**Two and a half years ago** – _Sendai Prison, Datekou_

It was the pitch blackness of night when special forces from Karasuno’s CROW and Shiratorizawa’s Eagles jointly assaulted Sendai Prison in occupied Datekou. The multinational mission came about to ensure a success ratio that neither unit could guarantee on its own: the rescue of Datekou’s detained prime minister, Yasushi Kamasaki.

Peering down from his helicopter at the penitentiary, Chikara Ennoshita mentally ran through his directives again. They knew where Kamasaki’s cell was; Chikara’s band of CROWs would carry out the rescue and extraction while the Eagles provided cover. They had to be out of the prison before reinforcements swarmed the floor the prime minister’s cell was on.

All went according to plan. Within minutes, they were inside, and the level housing Kamasaki was secure. Chikara wasted no time in unlocking their subject’s cell. Upon confirming it was their grateful target, Ennoshita shot a glance to the leader of the Eagles on the mission, Eita Semi.

Semi, appearing slightly edgy, was eyeing the removal of another prisoner from a nearby cell, a man of Datekou descent with brown hair and bangs that favored the right side of his face, who looked thoroughly baffled by his rescue. Chikara suspected from the start that Shiratorizawa had its own reasons for joining the operation, but it was above Ennoshita’s paygrade and not relevant right now.

“We’re moving out,” Semi called. That meant Karasuno had to leave as well.

“Wait! Save me!”

The voice came from the cell opposite Kamasaki’s. Whitened knuckles belonging to a terrified face clasped the bars. The prison housed everyone from court-martialed Tokyo soldiers to hardened murderers, and there was no telling who this person could be. Ennoshita began to march away.

“I’ll tell you what I know of their offensive plans!”

Chikara flinched. He didn’t have time for this; reinforcements were already converging, and the first of Semi’s forces were already evacuating.

“Who are you?” he curtly asked. The man was momentarily shocked he had the Karasunoan’s attention.

“A general,” he muttered nervously. “I opposed the invasion, so they locked me up.”

Chikara stared the man down. Whatever he was here for, his prognosis was probably bad; many internees were destined for execution.

A Fukurodani Army commander, disenfranchised because of disagreement with his country’s actions? It wasn’t implausible but far too coincidental.

However, the war had gone badly for the Miyagi Alliance from the start. If this man was telling the truth, he could provide valuable intelligence.

If Chikara spent the time to save him, they may not make it out though.

Why was he hesitating? He had his orders, and they were complete. He couldn’t afford to waver like this. He had to make a choice, correct or not. He had to make it _now_.

“Let him out,” Chikara ordered. After frantically finding the key, a soldier quickly unlocked the cell. The stunned prisoner stumbled out.

“Move out!” Chikara bellowed. They began to stampede towards their exit point. Chikara took a glance at the frazzled second prisoner running just behind him. “What’s your name?”

At that very moment, guards from the lower levels burst into the hall.

 

* * *

**One week ago** – _Karasuno_

It wasn’t often Chikara got called to his boss’s, Ryuunosuke Tanaka’s, office. That meant there was a particularly big assignment headed his way.

The Combat-Ready Operational Warfare unit—CROW—was one part of Karasuno’s powerful intelligence-gathering division, the Counterintelligence Bureau also known as the CIB. Tanaka was the head of field operations in the Karasuno office where Ennoshita had worked since transferring from CROW to a desk job. While Ennoshita was very much adept at information gathering, Tanaka constantly complained how his friend Chikara was woefully underusing his skillset. Ennoshita expected to hear some of the same spiel today.

“What have you got for me?” Chikara asked.

Facing a wall-mounted map of the country, the head-shaved Ryuu stood with crossed arms and his back to his visitor.

“I really wish I knew myself,” Tanaka grunted.

Ennoshita simpered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ryuu sighed and retrieved a set of laminated documents from a drawer. He tapped them on his desk to get the stack perfect before facing his most valuable colleague. Sweat was starting to form on his brow. He knew how Chikara would react to this assignment, so he had to present it in as delicate a way as possible to achieve cooperation.

“This one’s straight from the commander-in-chief.” He took the first laminated card in one hand and cursorily glanced at it. “Four weeks ago, someone approached a government researcher. Apparently they were trying to get them to defect.” He handed the card to Ennoshita and stayed silent so Chikara could skim. It was a typed witness statement, evidently given by this researcher whose identity was censored. The document presented so many blacked out passages it looked like a work of abstract art:

_On XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX received a phone call from a man wanting to meet XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The man XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX His head was shaped like a turnip—_

Chikara jolted at the odd, uncensored detail. Witnesses sometimes noticed the funniest things, but this description was a new one. Frankly there was precious little useful in the document that _wasn’t_ censored. For even the CIB to not be in the loop, the researcher’s position had to be something of extremely high importance. But with this little info, there was hardly anything to go off of.

“Well, this is helpful,” Chikara sarcastically shrugged, setting the statement on Ryuu’s desk.

“I would have laughed in Noya’s face if that was all he gave me, but there was some info of use— _maybe_.” Adding extra emphasis on the “maybe,” he set the next sheet on the table beside the witness statement. This one was a photograph of a male in a Shiratorizawan naval uniform bearing the insignia of an admiral.

“Kenjirou Shirabu?” Chikara read from the caption beneath the image.

“He’s the military attaché in Karasuno. Apparently around the time this researcher was approached, this Adm. Shirabu was asking probing questions of a high-level official. They suspect it’s not a coincidence.”

Chikara raised an eyebrow. Who was “they”? This obviously wasn’t coming exclusively from the president. It also struck Ennoshita that, save for the timing, there was nothing to connect the two events in the slightest.

“Do we have a witness statement of that exchange?” Ennoshita queried.

Tanaka smirked. “Yeah, I do. But if you thought the first one was useless, that one’s even more redacted.”

Chikara had gotten assignments with scant details before, but this one—no matter what—just felt fishy. He also couldn’t help but notice his boss’s subtle unease, which merely made Ennoshita more suspicious.

“This happened almost a month ago, and they’re only bothering to tell us now?”

“I don’t know any more than you do,” Ryuu shrugged. “I pressed Noya, and he just said it’s classified—and I don’t think _he_ even knows what this is about.” At this, Tanaka glanced at the next sheet in his hand. “ _But_ we did our own research and found somethin’ out ourselves.”

He placed another photograph on the table. It depicted a figure with disheveled ash blond hair and an authoritative confidence about him. Chikara, who almost never forgot a face, instantly recognized it but couldn’t quite remember from where.

“Remember Eita Semi?”

“I do,” Ennoshita said, recognizing the name, though still unsure where from.

Tanaka broke the suspense anticlimactically. “He was in charge of the Eagles in the Sendai Prison operation.”

At that, Chikara suddenly became muted. “Ah. Yeah. I remember,” Chikara mumbled. The words didn’t have the life his earlier sentences did. Tanaka sensed it but continued as if there were no change in his subordinate’s demeanor.

“Since that raid, he’s risen through the ranks of Shiratorizawa’s intelligence organs and is very well-placed now. As it turns out, Semi and this Adm. Shirabu have a history outside of their official capacities.”

The intrigue piqued Ennoshita’s interest again, and his momentary lassitude was lifted. “You think the military attaché was doing some digging on behalf of Shiratorizawan intelligence?”

“Maybe,” Tanaka said. “Well, initially that’s what I thought Noya wanted us to prove.” He stared long at the last sheet in his hands. “And then they threw _this_ at us.” He set down the document. It was another head shot, a mugshot actually. Ennoshita didn’t have to read the caption to know the face.

“Shigeru Yahaba?” A week ago, the man in question had been arrested in Seijoh on suspicion of multiple cybercrimes.

“He was extradited pretty quickly to Shiratorizawa,” Ryuu continued, “but Saeko’s guys just spotted him arriving by plane in Seijoh yesterday. And coincidence or not, Adm. Shirabu and Semi both arrived in Seijoh around the same time.”

“You make it sound like you already did my job for me,” Ennoshita said, eyes narrowing as he tried to parse out what his actual mission was going to be. He sighed. “And what do all these things have to do with each other besides being coincidences?”

Tanaka slumped into his seat, set his elbows on the desk, and interlocked his fingers. “Dunno. They all came to us in the same file pretty much. _Someone_ thinks they’re related, but Noya said we should focus on why Yahaba is back in Seijoh and can ignore the rest. So that’s your official assignment: find out what Shiratorizawa wants with Shigeru Yahaba; and if you happen to find out what—or _if_ —Shiratorizawa is doing spying on us, then that’s good too.”

Chikara narrowed his eyes again. This wasn’t his style, and Ryuu knew it. It sounded more like an espionage mission—a field operation—the kind Chikara refused to do ever since leaving CROW. “All right. And how am I supposed to accomplish this mission from here?” he bluntly interrogated.

Ryuu bit his lip. This was the part he was dreading. “Because you’re not gonna do it from here. I’m sending you to Seijoh to spy on Yahaba directly.”

At last, Tanaka had played his hand. Ennoshita took a deep breath before giving his nonchalant answer:

“OK. I refuse.”

“You have no choice,” glared Ryuu unforgivingly.

Chikara squirmed, not liking how much of an ultimatum Ryuu was making this into.

 “You know I don’t do fieldwork anymore.”

“I _need_ you for this mission. You’re the only one with the skills necessary and who has both intelligence-gathering _and_ operational experience.”

“I gave you my answer,” Ennoshita shrugged. Ryuu wanted to snarl. The matter was too urgent and important for him to tolerate this obstinacy right now.

“Are you still hung up about Sendai Prison?” he brusquely asked. His statement clearly touched a nerve as intended. Perhaps too much. Ennoshita’s eyes lit up with such fury it looked like he’d boil over. He slammed his fist on Tanaka’s desk so hard it bounced.

“Am I still _hung up_ about it?! I let a guy con me into thinking he was some high-placed Tokyo official when in reality he was some lowlife Fukurodani deserter trying to get out of getting shot by firing squad! And did you forget— _Did. You. Forget._ —that because I wasted the time to save that scumbag, three people under my command didn’t make it home that day!”

Ryuu maintained his stolid, soul-piercing gaze at the heaving male before him. Other managers might have been indignant at being verbally assailed, and Ryuu might have been less patient if this were any other employee.

But Chikara was a valuable and dear friend, and his boundless reservoir of talent was being wasted. He anticipated this resistance and had caved to it before. But not today. He couldn’t afford to have anyone _but_ Chikara on this assignment.

Calmer and receiving no verbal response, Chikara spoke again: “I refuse to let another man’s life be in my hands again.”

“I never intended to make you anyone’s chief. You’re going to be solo,” Ryuu stated. “Nor do you necessarily have to extract anyone for that matter. Your job is reconnaissance and possibly infiltration, and that’s it.”

It was fundamentally a compromise, even though not explicitly presented as one. Chikara stared down his manager. Since he hadn’t balked in the slightest, it was evident this time Tanaka wasn’t going to. Anger began to simmer inside at being forced into something he didn’t want to do.

“Nobody faults you for what happened,” Ryuu continued. Chikara’s heart sank at the statement, one he already knew intellectually. Before Sendai Prison, CROW’s 25-year history had a zero-loss record, and it was Chikara Ennoshita who forever shattered that boast.

But the only person recriminating him for it was himself, and he knew that. If he were perfectly honest, he wanted so desperately to get out of an office and return to the field. He hated his own guilt, and yet—no matter how much he wished it—he couldn’t _will_ it to go away.

“Dude, it’s time, and you know it. I’m not asking you to rejoin CROW, but for this mission, I need you to use some of those skills in an information-gathering role.” Chikara was silent. Tanaka could tell he was trying to conjure up more excuses. “You’re the only person I can trust with this,” he concluded.

That was the final straw. Chikara grimaced. Tanaka—as he had for the last two-and-a-half years—was only trying to help him forgive himself. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to say yes.

“There’s one more thing too,” Tanaka added, sensing he was close but not quite through to his companion, “and it’s the _other_ reason why _you’re_ the only one I can give this to.”

Ennoshita waited with longing eyes.

“Keep this between you and me, but while someone with direct access to the president is convinced Shiratorizawa is spying on Karasuno, I’m not so sure. Noya has his doubts too, though he can’t voice them to the president without proof. Your _official_ mission is to find out what Shiratorizawa wants with Shigeru Yahaba, but you’re _real_ mission is to find out who’s _really_ conducting surveillance on us.”

It all came back to that researcher, Ennoshita realized. Tanaka—and his boss, the head of the Counterintelligence Bureau, Yuu Nishinoya—were just as suspicious of the sketchy connections as Chikara himself was. And if the president, on the influence of someone in his inner circle, prematurely turned on Shiratorizawa when their assistance in the three-year war was so critical, the consequences could be catastrophic.

This wasn’t just about investigating some nefarious actors. This was about preserving the country altogether.

Ennoshita gulped. Ryuu had played his trump card and made an offer he knew Chikara couldn’t refuse. Despite his heart beating quicker at the thought of reentering the field, he repeated the mission details in his head to calm his nerves: solo, no subordinates, not even combat.

But most importantly, civic duty.

It was only after he reluctantly accepted the mission formally that his true fear reared its ugly head:

Could he, this time, dispense his duty without hesitation?

 

* * *

 

Ennoshita’s relocation was prompt, and soon he found himself reacquainting with the chief of CIB operations in Seijoh, Ryuunosuke Tanaka’s older sister Saeko. Only she, Ryuu, and their boss Noya knew the specifics of Chikara’s mission. Saeko had pinpointed that the person suspected to be Yahaba was operating out of a multi-housing unit in the western part of the country at an address that used to be registered to him.

The slovenly, two-story building near downtown sat perpendicular to the street with six side-by-side studio apartments on each floor. Shigeru Yahaba’s happened to be the closest to the road on the second floor and had street-facing windows as well as back-facing, though they all appeared to be blacked out. The front door to each apartment was on the same side of the building, second-floor access provided by an open-air walkway. A tiny parking lot with 15-20 spaces was mostly full, though the car owned by Shigeru Yahaba before his arrest was notably absent.

Chikara had two objectives, both quite simple on paper but each with its own challenges: one, confirm Shigeru Yahaba was indeed living at the address, and; two, find a moment when the house was vacant long enough to snoop inside.

Accomplishing the first objective was rendered difficult by the first sign of suspicious activity. Every day in late morning, an unmarked vehicle arrived, and a plain-looking person carrying a grocery bag knocked on the apartment. The building’s occupant would take the grocery bag, and then the delivery person would leave perfunctorily. Ennoshita never got a look at the resident’s face, but that these food drop-offs were organized by Shiratorizawa was never in doubt. All the while, the apartment’s resident never left the building once in the first five days of surveillance.

Then, on the sixth day of his reconnaissance, Sunday November 8, Chikara finally accomplished his first goal. Shortly after the morning food delivery, Shigeru Yahaba openly left the apartment, checked the coast was clear, and then paced to a corner store ten minutes away. He left with a plastic bag overflowing with what appeared to be a gross amount of coffee. No one paid much mind to the felon in public. Pedestrians that did double takes seeing the man soon kept on walking convinced they were seeing things.

It was on the return trip that one unusual thing happened. A turquoise Camaro rumbled up to Yahaba and stopped. Ennoshita, having tailed his target all the way to the store, couldn’t see through the tinted windows, but it looked as if Yahaba wasn’t especially pleased with the conversation that ensued with the driver. After a minute or so, the Camaro drove off, and Yahaba lumbered back to the apartment.

 

“It’s definitely Yahaba in there,” Chikara reported that evening to Saeko, “but he hasn’t left the house long enough to get inside.”

Saeko acknowledged the difficulty but, at Ryuu’s instigation, encouraged Chikara to try to speed things up. There was evidently impatience back home to get the matter resolved for whatever reason.

Yahaba didn’t leave throughout all the following day. Ennoshita parked across the street from the building in a black sedan.

He checked his watch. It was after 10pm that night, local time.

 

Then…

…Around the time Yahaba experienced a momentary power bump in his apartment…

…Around the time Akaashi with lab security was nearing Terushima…

…Around the time Futakuchi happened upon a breakthrough in his own investigation into Kenma…

 

…A grimy tan sedan with squealing brakes rolled up in front of Yahaba’s building.

 

Through all his surveillance, Ennoshita didn’t recognize this particular vehicle. He couldn’t make out the plates—the license plate lights appeared to be busted—but they were permanent tags, so it wasn’t a recent purchase. Chikara eyed the silhouette of the driver. The person looked at their phone multiple times and spent several minutes simply contemplating the apartment building.

Then at last, the male driver exited, slammed his door, and tromped up the steps to the second floor, hands snug in the pockets of a parka. Chikara warily eyed him as he stopped in front of Yahaba’s door.

He didn’t attempt to knock or even move; he seemed to be hesitating whether he should.

Then, despite the man’s inaction, Yahaba’s door flung open without warning. There was a pause. The visitor stared irritably through the threshold.

After a brief exchange of words, the strange visitor marched down the stairs, tailed hurriedly by Shigeru Yahaba hastily locking his door. Both entered the sedan, and the vehicle whined as it sped off.

Chikara sweated as he debated what to do. It was anyone’s guess where Yahaba was going or if he was coming back. If Chikara tailed the car, he risked getting caught as well as losing a chance to enter the apartment. If he stayed put, he might never locate Yahaba again.

If there was any consolation, Shigeru Yahaba had taken nothing with him in his swift flight. That meant the _real_ valuable stuff hopefully remained inside. He needed information and needed it now. He didn’t know if he’d get another chance to enter the empty abode like this.

He waited half an hour out of an abundance of caution. No other traffic came for the building except the usual residents. It was getting late, and Chikara decided—come what may—to take the chance now.

Lock picking was part of his training with CROW, and soon he found himself indoors and turned on a flashlight. The place was packed to the brim with boxes; apparently after his deportation, the landlord ordered the place cleared, but Shigeru must have returned before anything was hauled away. Opposite the door was a workstation with multiple computer monitors and an oversized mainframe. Trash littered the floor, his feet crunching various pieces of junk as he made his way toward the PC.

Stepping closer, he noticed the first oddity: the cover on the computer tower had been opened. Peeking inside, some of its components—motherboard, sound and video card, hard drive—were gone. He could see some electrical prongs, evidently plucked from the motherboard, on the floor, along with shards of microchips. Digging through a wastebasket he found half of the motherboard, sticky from being doused in soda, with parts crushed or crinkled by tweezers. Shigeru Yahaba definitely wasn’t planning to return, but why he went through so much trouble to leave no evidence was the real mystery.

Skimming the room more, he finally found one useful piece: a solid-state disk drive inside the toilet bowl. Fear of germs aside, he pocketed it, hoping someone on Saeko’s team could get something useful off it. As a precaution he gently pried away a corner of the black covering on the window to peek outside.

A vehicle rumbled up to the curb at that moment. It was a large personnel truck with a canvas-covered bed painted in the colors of the Seijoh Army. Soldiers poured out of it.

Chikara backed away instantly, ripped off the cover of one of the rear-facing windows, and forced it open. He skidded to the ground, fortunate the soldiers were so obsessed with getting to the front door they failed to surround the structure. He crawled under a hedgerow demarcating the boundary with the adjacent property and at last took a moment to breathe.

He carefully spied on the group of interlopers, spotting the leader—bearing the rank of a lieutenant but not the regalia of a commissioned Army officer—barking orders. The man had a stocky build with a firm countenance. His dark hair angled upward before seeming to stop at a point. His facial structure combined with the odd hairdo stood out for reasons Ennoshita couldn’t quite understand, though he thought the outline in the dark almost resembled…

A turnip.

He snapped away, and his breathing quickened.

No, this couldn’t be related. It was just a silly, obscure detail from an otherwise useless description.

Or was it? Nothing about this, after all, was turning out routine.

After sneaking as far enough away until he thought himself safe, Chikara took a moment to reevaluate. Retrieving his car was out of the question for the time being; he’d ask Saeko to get it later. He’d make his way back to their safe house on foot in lack of an alternative.

As he began to pace away, however, a hybrid electric sedan sluggishly whooshed to a halt, and Ennoshita ducked into the shadows. A male with scruffy hair stepped out and hastily fixed binoculars on the military truck ahead. Ennoshita recognized the face and decided to make a move while he had the chance. He pattered out of the darkness toward the vehicle.

The man pretended not to notice until his assailant was ready to pounce. When Chikara prepared to grab the figure, his foe twirled around and clasped one of Chikara’s wrists. Ennoshita swiftly kicked out the man’s legs, spun him 180 degrees, and throttled him face-forward onto the ground.

As soon as he was caught by the figure sitting atop him, the man ceased resisting almost immediately.

“I see. So Karasuno _is_ spying on us,” mumbled Eita Semi to his captor.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t part of any envisioned scenario, but Chikara Ennoshita had improvised given the new developments. Eita Semi, the man he’d wrestled a block away from Yahaba’s apartment, was now tied to a chair in an enclosed room in a CIB base in Seijoh. Any electronic devices had been confiscated and his vehicle left in the underground parking garage. Chikara updated Saeko on the situation; and while she wasn’t thrilled, she deferred to his judgment and applauded his initiative. Ennoshita asked that his car be retrieved when feasible and, if possible, that the current status of Yahaba’s apartment be ascertained. In the meantime, part of her team was attempting to read the hard drive Chikara swiped.

After letting Semi steep in lonely uncertainty into the wee hours of Tuesday morning, November 10th, Ennoshita finally stepped in on his Shiratorizawan prisoner. The restrained man remained stone-faced while Chikara locked the door with an emotionless glare.

“What you are doing to me is illegal,” Semi charged.

“We are both spies operating on the territory of a third party. I don’t think that statement has any validity.”

“And now that third party has Yahaba.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chikara queried.

“You saw,” Eita said. Chikara remained silent a second. Did Semi not know of Yahaba’s departure prior to the Seijoh Army’s arrival? The detainee’s stolid demeanor seemed sincere, but the possibility remained it was all a giant bluff. A slim possibility, though, when Chikara analyzed it: if Semi knew Yahaba had escaped and also knew Seijoh was going to raid the premises, he wouldn’t have exposed himself by going there personally.

Which left another question: where, and with whom, was Shigeru Yahaba now?

“Listen, Ennoshita,” Semi continued, Chikara flattered he remembered his name. “Whether you realize it or not, I’m on your side here.”

Ennoshita took a moment to consider. If the “turnip-head” was with Seijoh, then did that mean Seijoh was the one spying on Karasuno five weeks ago? Even if so, it didn’t explain Semi’s comrade Shirabu’s prying, which ultimately meant Chikara didn’t know whose side _anyone_ was on.

“It needs be said that for Seijoh to have Shigeru Yahaba is a dangerous proposition,” Semi further pressured, fully aware Ennoshita was contemplating whether to trust him.

“Why? What’s so special about Shigeru Yahaba?”

“Only that he’s a very accomplished hacker,” Semi shrugged.

It was a coy lie, and Chikara knew it. If Shigeru Yahaba was just some notorious virus encoder, then Ennoshita wouldn’t have been sent to find out what Shiratorizawa wanted with him. The man Yahaba himself was considered a threat to Karasuno’s national security for whatever reason. Something else was afoot, and it all had to do with all the information—including the top secret project of his own government with which he was purportedly protecting—that Chikara _didn’t_ know.

Some of which, apparently, Semi _did_ know. Either, Ennoshita figured, Yahaba knew what it was that Shiratorizawa and/or Seijoh wanted to get their hands on. _Or_ , Shigeru Yahaba had the means to get it.

There was a knock, which could only be Saeko, and Ennoshita left the space momentarily, planning to contemplate things about Yahaba later.

 

“My team cracked into that hard drive, but you aren’t gonna like it,” Saeko bluntly stated. Chikara gulped. “It had a ton of encryption, but when they got through it all, the drive was empty.”

Chikara sighed. Just as he expected. It again confirmed Yahaba never had any intention of returning to that apartment.

“We also got your car,” Saeko resumed, “and we took a peek inside the apartment. It’s taped up like a crime scene, but all the electronics are gone.”

It must be the Seijoh Army’s doing. Undoubtedly they were after the same data but would certainly have the same disappointments as Chikara himself. This also suggested that somehow Yahaba knew that Seijoh was coming for him.

And if Semi genuinely believed Yahaba had been captured, then it further meant Eita Semi had nothing to do with tipping Yahaba off.

 

“What does Shiratorizawa want with Yahaba?” Ennoshita asked his prisoner upfront when he finally returned to the space.

“Well, since you went through all the trouble to spy on him, you tell me first: what does _Karasuno_ want with Yahaba?” Semi countered.

Ennoshita groaned and then regretted letting his emotion show when Eita’s interest was piqued.

“Don’t you know?” Semi pushed. “I mean, clearly they assigned someone of your caliber because they wanted someone who could potentially extract a target.” Ennoshita successfully controlled his visage this time, though he was reminded of his boss’s statement that he wouldn’t “necessarily” have to extract a target. Even back then, Ennoshita knew from the phrasing that extraction was always a possibility if the circumstances warranted.

Semi simpered and shrugged. “Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that _we_ —you and I, and our two countries—have to get Yahaba away from Seijoh ASAP.”

Ennoshita was certain Semi wasn’t lying about thinking Yahaba had been detained, as much as he was playing coy about everything else.

And he wasn’t sure why, but Chikara decided to sacrifice his trump card to get to the bottom of it.

“What if I told you Seijoh _doesn’t_ have Yahaba?”

Semi’s look of confusion was genuine. At first, he took the statement to imply _Karasuno_ had taken the hacker, but Ennoshita cleared up the doubt as he described the events 30 minutes before Seijoh arrived. Though he purposely left out one detail.

Semi took a few moments to process the information before irksomely speaking again. “Then it’s all the more urgent if someone else has Yahaba.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“I’ll give you the proof,” he said flatly. “Undo my jacket and look at my left shoulder.”

Perplexed, Chikara complied when he saw Semi wasn’t kidding. Eita then directed him to pull aside his undershirt from around his neck. Ennoshita’s eyes shook at the sight. A dark, circular scar was obvious where Semi’s shoulder met his neck.

“That’s where a sniper shot me three weeks ago—in my own driveway.” Ennoshita backed away as Semi continued. “My government covered it up, but I’m sure your superiors can verify it. The person who attacked me is certainly the person who has Yahaba now, and given they are willing to go to _this_ extreme to silence perceived threats, it is imperative we get Yahaba away from them.”

 _We_. Chikara wished Semi would stop saying “we” when he had no idea who to trust at all.

“It is in both our nations’ interest to work together on this.”

Ennoshita’s head was ready to explode. First someone in his own government overprotective of some classified information. Then allegations Shiratorizawa was trying to steal protected information. Then Seijoh and the mysterious “turnip-head.” And on top of all that, Semi was claiming a _fourth_ nation’s involvement.

And then there was the piece that made Ennoshita doubt Semi’s suspicion, the thing he intentionally _didn’t_ tell his prisoner: Yahaba wasn’t _taken_. He left with the mysterious individual _willingly_.

“I have my own means to locate Yahaba if you let me go,” Semi spoke again. He could see Ennoshita was thoroughly confused. At this point, getting out of here and relocating Yahaba—whomever he was with—was the top priority, even if that meant sacrificing a few pieces of less valuable intel. Right now he hoped the pressure he was placing on the Karasunoan operative would be enough to make him crack and let him out.

After all, it seemed from the after-action reports on the Sendai Prison raid that Chikara Ennoshita didn’t fare well under pressure.

And even if Ennoshita didn’t cave, he still had his main plan of escape.

Chikara didn’t say anything. He was sure now that Semi was trying to con him into releasing him. He had no personal authority to rope his government into a covert ops alliance on the fly of course, but he didn’t know anything with certainty and needed to verify too much and therefore didn’t want to let his one good lead go. But the risk of a diplomatic situation rose the longer he kept Semi in custody.

There was a knock at the door. Grateful for the momentary relief, Chikara stepped out quickly.

 

In the hall outside, Saeko spoke tersely. “The Shiratorizawan consulate is here. Looks like they traced your friend’s car, because they want him back under threat of a diplomatic incident. I can’t say no since Noya never authorized us to take him in the first place.”

And at last, Ennoshita knew Semi had won. Everything up until now might as well have been stalling.

Chikara wanted to pound his own head against a wall.

He didn’t say anything when Saeko handed Semi to the consular representative, exchanging brief pleasantries that assured the affair wouldn’t be brought to their respective higher-ups.

 

Without even taking a minute to sleep even though it was almost morning, Chikara went about pursuing his only other clue. Even though his body was exhausted, he began researching the officer who led the raid on Yahaba’s apartment. Not long after daybreak, Saeko whispered in his ear some good but unrelated news: the Miyagi Alliance had just launched a massive offensive in Datekou, and from information gleaned so far, it seemed to be starting well. Chikara wondered if the expectation of the battle was why his chain of command had been antsy for a resolution to the Yahaba affair.

After a few hours of careful digging, Ennoshita finally found what he needed:

Lieutenant Yuutarou Kindaichi. That was the man he’d seen last night.

But when he looked up his position, his heart skipped a beat. He didn’t work for the Seijoh Army at all, hence the man’s unusual attire. He was part of the Chancellor Protection Unit. The CPU acted as the personal escorts of Seijoh’s chancellor, Akira Kunimi. They acted directly on the chancellor’s orders. And on further study, he confirmed Lt. Kindaichi had been in Karasuno over a month ago during a state visit by the chancellor, at the same time the researcher was supposedly contacted by the “turnip-head.”

Then, Saeko appeared and confirmed, per Ryuu, the other query Ennoshita ran through her: three weeks ago, Eita Semi was indeed the target of an unsolved assassination attempt in his home country.

She also said Ryuu wanted a report today.

Ennoshita sighed. He wasn’t sure how he’d explain his acting out in abducting Semi, but he’d justify it somehow. The moment he stood though, he wobbled from sleeplessness and fell into Saeko’s arms.

“OK, you’re done. Time for sleep,” she commanded, and Ennoshita didn’t object as she helped him over to a couch.

 

* * *

 

Ennoshita awoke sometime that afternoon in a breakroom, jostled awake by Saeko herself.

“Chikara, you’re leaving. Get up!”

“What is it?” he groggily replied, only to have a cell phone thrust into his hands. “Hello?” he mumbled as he wiped sleep away from his eyes.

“Chikara!” Ryuu’s voice barked. “Things have changed. You’re flying out to sea.”

“What for?” Ennoshita nervously asked.

“I’ll explain, but the orders are absolute. Adm. Shirabu is to be arrested.”

 

* * *

 

All day, a battle raged on the island of Datekou at the southern tip of the Miyagi continent. It was the first major offensive by the Alliance in nine months. As always, Shiratorizawan air and naval power were brought to bear in a support role. Their aircraft carriers were out at sea, providing floating airstrips for Johzenji, Seijoh, and Karasunoan aircraft as well as their own. Adm. Kenjirou Shirabu was aboard one such carrier, acting in an observational role as part of his official capacity as military attaché.

Nobody knew it, but Shirabu really didn’t want to be here right now, having been forced to temporarily charge Eita Semi with overseeing a certain pet project of his. He had requested regular updates but hadn’t heard from Semi once all day.

The carrier he was on was where Chikara Ennoshita in a helicopter was bound right now.

His orders were clear: ferry Adm. Shirabu from the Shiratorizawan carrier _STZ Takashi Utsui_ over to the nearby Karasunoan carrier _KRS Torono_. Ryuu took the courtesy of explaining what he could to ease Chikara’s mind: Shigeru Yahaba had hacked Karasunoan government systems, and Adm. Shirabu was wanted for questioning immediately. Ennoshita was begrudgingly chosen due to his proximity, his preexisting knowledge of affairs surrounding Yahaba, and his experience in extraction.

After all, if Shirabu refused to come peacefully, force was officially authorized.

Ennoshita wasn’t at all sure this was the right move. He’d conveyed his findings about Yuutarou Kindaichi to Saeko, asking that they be forwarded to Ryuu, but the cyber threat back home—the exact extent of which Chikara was not privy to—preoccupied everyone’s attention. He hadn’t gotten around to giving his full report about Yahaba or debriefing Tanaka about his interrogation of Semi either.

It wasn’t his job to question orders though. He had a simple and concise directive, not open to interpretation. It was his job to execute it.

He knew what happened the last time he hesitated.

As sunset approached, Ennoshita’s copter made visual sighting of the _KRS Torono_ and its escorts and then, just beyond it, the _STZ Utsui_.

The _Takashi Utsui_ was a marvelous example of a contemporary carrier, if slightly dated. She had a relatively small capacity but was rather quick. Adm. Shirabu chose the vessel as his host for the battle partly because, secretly, it was also one of few vessels in his fleet capable of intercepting intercontinental ballistic missiles.

When the copter descended onto the _Utsui_ ’s deck by the centrally located island that housed the bridge, Ennoshita hung off the chopper’s skid. Already he spotted his target and the ship’s commanding officer, Captain Tsutomu Goshiki, awaiting him. Chikara skipped from the craft and tramped through the whirlwind of its blades toward his expectant guests.

“May I help you?” Shirabu stonily asked.

“Adm. Shirabu, your presence is requested aboard the _Torono_ ,” Ennoshita announced with a salute. The Shiratorizawan officers had already been advised by the captain of the _Torono_ that the helicopter was coming to take the admiral to the Karasunoan ship but didn’t give any more details.

Before Shirabu could reply though, a call came over the ship’s PA:

“Capt. Goshiki, please come to the bridge immediately.” The call was repeated, causing the young captain to groan.

“Now what?” he griped and dashed hurriedly toward the island.

Now Shirabu and Ennoshita were alone.

“Whatever it is you need, you can communicate just fine with me here,” Kenjirou balked.

“The planners aboard the _Torono_ would like your strategic input,” Ennoshita restated. Kenjirou spat into the salty breeze.

“I’m just here as an observer. If you want me to get involved, you can do it another way.” Truthfully, Shirabu actually enjoyed the thrill of battle and on any other day would accept the invitation in a heartbeat. But since he had instructed Semi to reach out to the _Utsui_ with updates on their reconnaissance of the Tokyo Entente’s Kenma Project, he refused to leave the vessel.

“Admiral,” Ennoshita repeated, “I am but relaying my orders.”

“How many times do I have to tell you no?”

It was only 15 feet to the copter behind him. If Chikara were to carry out a forced extraction, the opportunity was while they were alone. He knew that full well.

But he couldn’t will himself to take that step.

“Admiral,” he stalled again, “I am under orders to take you with me.”

Before Shirabu could object once more, a bone-shaking grumble permeated the whole vessel. Shirabu and Ennoshita nearly lost their balance when from a compartment near the rear of the ship escaped a terrifying blast of fire, ejecting a projectile into the sky in the blink of an eye. It barreled into the atmosphere at frightening speed.

Shirabu’s eyes bulged, knowing exactly what that weapon was. Ennoshita didn’t know its exact purpose, but he could tell right away it was a long-range missile.

“Adm. Shirabu, you have an urgent call on the bridge,” the PA announced. “Please report to the bridge.”

“Thank goodness,” Shirabu exclaimed. He didn’t care if it was Semi or someone explaining that rocket; he was just glad to have the chance to rid himself of the Karasunoan insect wasting his time.

“As you can see,” Shirabu ragged, “my presence is required _here_. Tell your seniors I am not leaving.” Shirabu turned and showed his back. This was Ennoshita’s opportunity to take the admiral with his guard down. He had to act now.

But he didn’t.

Something was awry. Shirabu didn’t seem even remotely suspicious. If he was behind Yahaba’s current actions, then he would know why they wanted him.

No, Adm. Shirabu had nothing to do with whatever was happening. Neither did Semi. That meant Chikara had to find out what was _really_ going on.

He darted forward and clasped the admiral’s wrist. Shirabu’s head snapped round, shocked at the audacity the man had to snare him.

“Unhand me!”

“Admiral, my name is Chikara Ennoshita, and I am with the CIB. I was sent here to arrange your transfer to the _Torono_ because of Shigeru Yahaba.” Chikara tried not to regret his words. At first, mentioning the CIB caused a wave of confusion to wash over Kenjirou’s face, only to be replaced by shock at the mention of Yahaba.

What on earth had happened in the 24 hours since he left Semi in charge of investigating Kenma?

Suddenly, though, fear washed over Shirabu’s face, prompted by something in the sky.

A monstrous boom echoing and reverberating for several seconds now created a recoil that even managed to bounce the aircraft carrier on the waves. Ennoshita released the admiral to cover his ears and gazed skywards.

The rocket fired moments ago had imploded, spewing smoking pieces of metal near the setting sun. Shirabu realized something had intercepted the rocket and destroyed it.

It was virtually impossible to distinguish because of the fiery glare to the sun itself, but in its center now was a black speck, all but invisible to the naked eye. Two twinkling lights emanated at each corner of the speck. The two glints dropped below the sun as the black spot turned out of the sun—becoming visible as a fighter jet—and swung a quick 180. The pair of lights it dropped fell to almost sea level where they leveled off and barreled toward the _Utsui_.

A siren immediately wailed aboard the carrier to send the crew to battle stations. Shirabu frightfully realized what was about to collide with the hull of his ship.

“Hit the deck!”

Shirabu’s bellow was the last thing Ennoshita heard before the impact.

Two seconds later, anti-air rockets spewed from the carrier and its escorts, aimed at the escaping fighter.

One second later, the fighter’s two air-launched missiles slammed into the _Utsui_ above the waterline, one near the front and one near the rear, detonating with enough force to nearly throw the carrier onto its side.

Three seconds later, the _Torono_ and its escorts joined the barrage of rockets aimed at the fleeing assailant.

Eight seconds later, before the first missiles reached the jet, its pilot looped and began adroitly shooting down the rockets one-by-one. In a preternatural display of airmanship, each of the Shiratorizawan projectiles was destroyed without hitting its target.

Twenty seconds later, however, despite the death-defying array of evasive maneuvers, one of the Karasunoan missiles found its mark on the fighter’s wing and annihilated it.

And forty-five minutes later, the _STZ_ _Takashi Utsui_ , the first Shiratorizawan casualty of a war in which they claimed to be neutral, disappeared beneath the ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. That happened. :)
> 
> Some more housekeeping: I upped the rating as a precaution due to things that happen later. Character tags will be updated when major characters are introduced except where spoilers are of concern.
> 
> According to the current plan, this story primarily takes place over three days, starting on Monday, November 9th (the day Terushima infiltrated Lab 3 last chapter). The second half of this chapter takes place on Tuesday, November 10th. I will be paying special attention to keeping chronology clear, but please don’t ever be afraid to ask for clarification. I will be happy to clear things up wherever chronology is concerned.
> 
> That being said, the schedule of NGC events forces me to be extra creative with exposition. That’s why this chapter seems only thinly related to the first one. I look forward to revealing how everything in this web eventually ties together, and good news! I believe we will check back in on Terushima's predicament next chapter. :)
> 
>  
> 
> ~~The next chapter, by the way, will be for the “ _Next_ Next-Gen Captain” day on January 26. Sorry to make you wait so long, but I hope you get excited for a focus on the President of Karasuno and--just maybe--a few others. ;)~~
> 
>  
> 
> Due to a succession of unexpected RL events, chapter 3 has been postponed to the weekend of February 2nd/3rd. RL did not cooperate this time in allowing me to get the chapter done by the scheduled date.


	3. That One Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was only one thing keeping Shigeru Yahaba from packing his bags and leaving Seijoh for good. But recently, even that one thing was becoming a source of discomfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief references to sex (nothing graphic or explicit)
> 
> In the time since the last chapter, the Next Gen Captain events around which this fic was built were canceled. I will use the original schedule as a guide but will take this chance to reorder the planned chapters. As such, the Next-Next Gen Captains chapter has been postponed indefinitely, but I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much. ;)
> 
> For a refresher, go below for the timeline, character list, and world map (the timeline and character list will be updated with spoilers on February 9): https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1r_PdCGsNdRtqyc9Ij08sQ-1-SNgEB3wi5eh4hodU2bQ/edit?usp=sharing
> 
> Without further ado,  
> -  
>  _Previously on the Kenma Project:_  
>  Shirabu: “Shigeru Yahaba: you were a computer programmer in Seijoh working for an internet security firm, but your real job was hacking. You are behind the creation of several high-profile computer viruses…”
> 
> Ennoshita: “Kenjirou Shirabu?”  
> Tanaka: “He’s the military attaché in Karasuno. Apparently around the time this researcher was approached, this Adm. Shirabu was asking probing questions of a high-level official….”
> 
> Futakuchi: “Yahaba found another lead in the stuff Shirabu sent over, so I’m going to investigate that.”
> 
> On Sunday November 8: …A turquoise Camaro rumbled up to Yahaba. …Yahaba wasn’t especially pleased with the conversation that ensued…. The Camaro drove off, and Yahaba lumbered back to the apartment.
> 
> Floating in the spacious tank was a nude male human being…. When he turned back, Terushima was startled to find that the man’s eyelids had slightly opened…. Staring back were not human eyes; they were the eyes of a cat.
> 
> Around the time Yahaba experienced a momentary power bump in his apartment…a grimy tan sedan…rolled up in front of Yahaba’s building. …  
> After a brief exchange of words, the strange visitor [and] Shigeru Yahaba…entered the sedan, and the vehicle…sped off.
> 
> Ennoshita finally found what he needed: Lieutenant Yuutarou Kindaichi. That was the man he’d seen last night. …He was part of the Chancellor Protection Unit.
> 
> Akaashi: “I hate to inform you, but this isn’t C-2, Dr. Yuushima. Or, should I say, Yuuji Terushima.”  
> -

**Monday November 9, approx. 5:15pm Tokyo time** – _Lab 3, Itachiyama, Fukurodani_

Terushima had wanted a change from his monotonous life. Being the target of a barrel of a gun wasn’t the excitement he was hoping for.

Akaashi stood confidently, a pair of armed guards flanking him either side. The guards advanced towards Yuuji, the shadows formed by the blue light from the specimen tanks intersecting like a kaleidoscope. Yuuji held onto the keyboard behind him to stabilize himself. In the soundwaves transmitted directly to his brain, Yahaba was cursing like a sailor.

“In case you were wondering,” Akaashi grinned, “figuring out your identity was easy. I’m surprised whoever sent you chose someone so recognizable in the field. The moment I saw that phony name of yours, I knew you were a spy.”

Terushima didn’t have time to feel flattered when two of the soldiers clasped his arms and another patted him down, confiscating his mission cell phone. Lt. Daishou watched coldly. No one took note of the video camera disguised as a pen in Yuuji’s pocket or the faux earring acting as a wireless receiver.

“Hiroo, grab the drive.” Daishou commanded one of them who yanked the USB from the computer. The commander turned to Keiji. “Shall I take him outside and finish him off, Doc?”

Akaashi advanced smoothly through the sea blue light, making his hair and lab coat shimmer with a tint of dark cerulean. He halted right before Yuuji.

“Don’t be hasty, Lieutenant. I don’t want any harm to come to him. Actually”—his grin, as fake as it was, seemed eerily inviting—“I want to have a word with Dr. Terushima.”

Yuuji stared into the gunmetal blue eyes that tried to read his soul, but the Johzenjiite couldn’t decipher their intent at all. Akaashi’s focus drifted lazily toward the floating humanoid in the tank, and suddenly his pupils dilated. Yuuji stumbled when Akaashi shoved him aside and plastered his hands on the console at the base of the tank. The nude figure with its vacuous feline slits did not react.

“That’s the first time Kenma’s opened his eyes,” he spoke in awe. “Lieutenant, take Dr. Terushima to my office and guard him there. I’ll be in momentarily.” He didn’t take his gaze off Kenma, and Daishou clicked his tongue. When the scientist was in this mood, “momentarily” could mean forever.

“Come on.” The security chief tersely tugged Yuuji by the arm. Terushima watched the enrapt scientist beginning to open up windows on the computer screen, quietly hoping Yahaba wasn’t entirely joking when he teased “don’t doubt my power” to find a way to help Yuuji.

For Shigeru Yahaba, however, the situation was about to get dramatically worse. 

 

* * *

  

 **Yesterday, Sunday November 8** – _Seijoh_

Shigeru Yahaba hated his country. It mistreated immigrants, bragged a broken healthcare system, and didn’t boast a spotless human rights record. Only one thing ever kept him from packing his bags and leaving for good. But even that one thing of late was becoming a source of discomfort.

Then, he was arrested, whisked away in a matter of hours to the obnoxious land of Shiratorizawa. And after meeting the admiral who orchestrated his detention, suddenly he was back home.

Yahaba got about his new assignment pretty diligently, delving into the backgrounds of the Kenma Project’s researchers—from its chief Keiji Akaashi to more recent inductees like Tetsurou Kuroo—as well as the all-Nohebi security force on loan from the military junta. He was able to do it all from his old apartment, preserved in the condition he’d unwillingly left it by Adm. Shirabu’s intermediaries.

Yahaba had very little direct contact with the naval admiral, most of his communications filtered through an irksome and stodgy man named Eita Semi. He was responsible for coordinating Yahaba’s needs from food to electronic equipment. Shigeru made sure to irritate him at every possible moment and rather enjoyed doing so; and while he didn’t get everything he’d liked (he’d have preferred a more reliable backup power supply, for example), he could make do with what he had been provided.

Except for one amenity he was lacking. When Shigeru got to his work, he drank coffee like a chain smoker, yet despite persistent requests, Semi refused Yahaba’s pricy demand for one particular brand of joe. And so, when Sunday rolled around, despite standing orders to remain indoors, Yahaba took matters into his own hands.

He kept his head low as he pattered the short route to and from the store. Some passersby did double takes, but Yahaba ignored them. On his way back, a turquoise Camaro speeding in the opposite lane vroomed by. The driver just happened to spot Yahaba, promptly cut off another car to get into the left lane, and made a sharp U-turn. The car accelerated rapidly and then purred when it got close to the pedestrian, stopping alongside and rolling down the window. With near dread, Shigeru knew who it was.

“Yahaba?” the incredulous driver spoke.

“What do you want, Oikawa?” He kept his gaze elsewhere.

“What do I _want_?” Tooru Oikawa said with offense. “First we don’t talk for a month—which is, like, totally normal so I don’t think anything of it, except you owe me 200 bucks so I kind of expected to hear from you—then I see your face plastered all over the news as the guy who invented WannaWail!”

“It wasn’t me,” Shigeru feebly lied.

“Uh-huh. So who’d you bribe to get home?”

“No one,” he answered just as listlessly.

“Whatevs.” Oikawa waved his hand dismissively. “You know, if I’d known you were some big hotshot cybercriminal and probably loaded, I wouldn’t have given you that money. I pawned my guitar because of you.”

“I can’t pay you, so are we done?” Yahaba shrugged.

“Did Mad Dog know?” Tooru suddenly asked.

Yahaba prickled at the name. “Can you please not call him that?”

Oikawa feigned searching for the subject of their conversation. “He’s not here.”

“Listen,” Yahaba suddenly forced, “don’t tell Ken I’m back.”

“Whatever. Hit me up sometime, preferably with money. I need a new guitar.”

He sped off as fast as the engine would rev. Shigeru shuddered momentarily but marched on, his gut guiltily churning at the recollection of the man Oikawa mentioned.

At the traffic light, Tooru Oikawa slid his rearview mirror to eye Shigeru and snorted. “Considering you screwed me over with that ‘I’m broke’ lie of yours, I think I’m entitled to a little resentment,” he muttered as he thumbed a text to Kentarou Kyoutani. 

 

* * *

  

**Monday November 9, approx. 5:20pm Tokyo time/10:20pm Miyagi time**

Yuuji Terushima occupied a chair on the near side of a desk in a dense office. The room bristled with scientific texts on shelves alongside personal touches such as a Newton’s cradle and a picture of Dr. Akaashi with a goofily smiling silver-haired man. Suguru Daishou blocked the room’s only exit, the lieutenant looking all too displeased to be here. Terushima lounged in the chair, twiddling a pen between his thumb and index finger.

It wasn’t an absentminded gesture. To help Yahaba assess his predicament, he rotated the video camera-disguised implement to capture the layout of the space. Yahaba had made few remarks since his capture, almost wholly absorbed in eliminating any trace of the cyber intrusion before the lab caught on.

Things were bad. If not for the ill-timed power bump, he would have noticed when security entered the lab, and with the data download canceled, he had little to show for their efforts except recorded video. For now, it seemed best to wait for Akaashi to reappear and then calculate a new plan of action.

Once all evidence of his hacking was erased, Yahaba diligently checked his system to ensure no Trojans had made it in—although had any program tried, it would certainly have been blocked by his firewall.

Which was why Yahaba was shocked by what he found.

Part of the compromise for letting him operate out of his old apartment was that Shiratorizawa planted a piece of harmless spyware on his PC to monitor his activities. Any attempt to circumvent it would set off alarm bells.

That spyware was there, but so was _another_ suspicious set of code. Shigeru analyzed the code and sat up anxiously.

The new malware hadn’t come from Fukurodani, so it wasn’t sent by Lab 3.

It originated in Seijoh.

Having routinely checked his PC before the operation began, the program must have gotten in sometime in the last twenty minutes. There was only one opportunity the code could have bypassed his firewall: the first few seconds of rebooting after the power outage.

That couldn’t be a coincidence. The power bump was _intentional_. And whoever planted the code knew where he was.

Yahaba highlighted the bad program and wiped it from his PC. The infiltrator would probably react promptly and may well come in person. Yahaba had to get out fast as well as warn Semi. Rather than argue with the annoying go-between over the phone, Shigeru concocted a faster way to alert his caretaker and so with pleasure deleted the Shiratorizawan spyware from his PC too. If that didn’t send Eita Semi into a tizzy, nothing would. His last order of business was his Johzenjiite comrade, for whom Yahaba regrettably could do little right now.

“Sorry, Terushima. You’re on your own,” he announced curtly and ended the communication link, the connection alive long enough to hear Yuuji audibly exclaim “ _What?!_ ” Yahaba immediately went about dismantling his hardware and, with that completed, snatched his mission phone (which Semi had already dialed a few times and Shigeru happily ignored) and bolted for the front door.

Where he was going—well, he’d figure that out once he was outside.

When he flung open the entrance, the sight gave him pause.

Just as shocked to see Yahaba as Yahaba was to see him, a burly male figure with a blond buzz cut towered in his way. Shigeru averted his gaze. He wasn’t sure why the man was here, but the rapid pounding of his heart made him wish he wasn’t.

And yet, at the same time, upon seeing him again, Yahaba wanted so badly to be with this person right now as well.

“Hey, Ken,” he squirmed. The man’s surly frown was unmoved. “Can I…can I crash at your place for a while?”

The person, Kentarou Kyoutani, made no reaction at first. There were a few cold, prolonged moments.

Until finally:

“Come on.”

Ken’s reply was emotionless yet produced immense relief in Yahaba. Kyoutani dogtrotted away, Yahaba scampering after him soon after.

And under the baffled watch of a Karasunoan operative named Chikara Ennoshita, they sped off in a tan beater that was puffing at the curb.

 

The drive was excruciatingly silent. Yahaba’s phone buzzed a few more times, but Shigeru silenced each of Semi’s calls until after 11 when he stopped calling altogether. Kyoutani, Shigeru’s partner the last four years, was frustratingly quieter than usual. Shigeru knew he must have plenty of questions—for one, his secret double life had been aired on national television for the whole world to see—but didn’t have a clue how to go about answering them.

All of that was incidental to the _other_ issue in their relationship and the difficulties _that_ problem had been causing. It indirectly led to a fight three days before Yahaba’s arrest, as a result of which Shigeru rashly left Kentarou’s apartment where he’d been staying for several months. The rent on his old place, kept up for fear things might fall apart, was what he needed Oikawa’s money for. His moving out—in his mind—was supposed to be temporary, and he and Ken smoothed things over the next day by phone.

But they hadn’t talked about where their relationship exactly was now, if it had changed at all, and that’s what made everything so awkward at the moment.

Even so, like old times, Yahaba was riding an elevator in a downtown condo building with the boy whom he loved more than anything.

It was no secret Shigeru was the cleaner of the pair, and in his absence, Kentarou’s condominium looked even worse for wear than before. The open floorplan boasted a kitchen to the left of the entryway where the dining table was and, straight ahead, a sunken living room with a couch, TV, and computer station. The hall to the bathroom and bedroom was to the right. Kentarou slid a pile of laundry on the dinner table to one edge, clearing the space in front of where Yahaba used to sit. Then he threw off some detritus from the couch while Shigeru hovered in the entryway. His boyfriend wasn’t the talkative type, but the quiet, methodical cleanup was actually quite welcoming given who it was coming from.

Besides, Shigeru didn’t like being bothered himself, so they complemented each other’s personalities in a quirky way.

“I’m sorry,” Yahaba mumbled all of a sudden, unsure what else to say. Kentarou peered up from the living room and marched to where Shigeru stood.

“For leaving,” Ken said, sounding like a statement though intended as a question.

“Well, yeah. That’s what happens when you get arrested,” Shigeru ribbed, before guiltily realizing Kentarou was referring to his moving out. “Yeah, I—” he tried to clarify but was interrupted by what came next.

Kyoutani lassoed Yahaba in an enormous bear hug, tight to the point of almost painful and yet overflowing with genuine thankfulness for his return. Shigeru couldn’t take it. He sniffled and replied by placing his palms on Kentarou’s back and resting his face on the boy’s chest.

“I’m sorry, for all of it,” he mumbled over and over.

“Just shut up,” Kentarou replied calmly, not meaning the words harshly at all, merely wanting his boyfriend to be silent so he could enjoy his presence. Somehow, no matter what idiocy Shigeru ever got up to, this man always found it in his heart to forgive.

Before his arrest, there was only one thing stopping Shigeru from packing his bags and leaving Seijoh for good. And right now, that thing peered into his eyes with a longing for Shigeru as deep as the other man’s was for him.

And their lips neared.

 

What happened next, unfortunately, was exactly what Yahaba feared. Fight aside, the original strain in their relationship was something Shigeru had tried numerous things for, though nothing had yet prevailed.

To put it gently, whenever they tried to be intimate, Yahaba’s body…didn’t cooperate.

Kentarou remained patient and supportive. He always insisted he loved his boyfriend for many reasons beyond that. Right now, their clothes on the bedroom floor, Yahaba sulked in a fetal position on the bed, his partner supine beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again, shivering with embarrassment. Stress was the most likely cause, doctors said, and increasingly Yahaba was convinced the source was his undercover side gig. He had wanted to get out of his more criminal line of work for a while; and in fact he’d decided that after this last mission for Shiratorizawa, he’d quit for good.

Now that Kyoutani was suddenly back in his life, he didn’t yet know what he’d do afterward.

“Don’t be,” Kentarou said, the statement intended to be comforting. “It’s fine.” There was a long pause. Ken gazed at the pitch-black ceiling while his mind drifted to one of the many topics he’d wanted to ask about. “So that’s what you were doing?”

“What?” Yahaba said.

“All that stuff in the news—was it true?”

Yahaba grimaced. Suddenly he realized Kyoutani had been suspicious for a while, but he had never been the type to pry.

“Yes, but…I’m not doing that anymore.” He couldn’t tell Kentarou about his current endeavor. He didn’t know what Shirabu might do if he willfully inducted outsiders into the classified mission. Plus, someone else was after him, and he refused to endanger Ken.

Kyoutani sat up and leaned in for a quick peck on his BF’s lips. When Ken shrank back, his eyes drilled into Yahaba’s face.

“You’re still hiding something.”

The words cut into Yahaba like a knife.

And he said nothing.

A vibrating noise in the room broke the tension, and Shigeru slid off the bed to extricate the phone from his trousers pocket.

“Who keeps calling you?” Kentarou suspiciously asked, completely ignored as Yahaba read the number. It wasn’t Semi this time, but he did recognize it and answered quickly.

“H-hello?” he stuttered unintentionally.

“Yahaba!” Kenji Futakuchi exclaimed. “I’ve got something!”

Shigeru’s lips quivered as he caught the penetrating gaze of his boyfriend demanding an answer to his questions.

“This is a bad time,” Yahaba mumbled.

“It’s urgent!” Futakuchi direly pushed.

Shigeru couldn’t decide who needed his attention more. But most of all, he just wanted an escape from the situation at hand, and without realizing it, Futakuchi had offered it.

 “Gimme a minute,” he told Kenji and exited to the hall. Ken’s face sank, but Shigeru had his back to the boy. Ignoring the pangs of his conscience, Yahaba gently shut the door. “What is it?” he asked firmly to compose himself.

“Kenma’s not a weapon! It’s a person!” Futakuchi practically yelled.

“Y-yeah. They’re growing artificial humans or something,” Shigeru said, sharing Terushima’s intel.

“It’s more than that!” Futakuchi declared.

What he proceeded to detail was way more complex than Yahaba could have imagined. Kenji had encountered an individual who made extravagant but not implausible claims about the Kenma Project. The implications of the insider’s information were clear: “What you’re saying is, without _that_ , Kenma would be useless to them even if we don’t sabotage the lab.”

The crucial part was verifying the informant’s story, and that’s what Kenji needed most urgently from Yahaba. Futakuchi had arranged to meet his contact again at 9am tomorrow. It was nearing midnight where Yahaba was. 9am for Kenji would be two in the afternoon in Seijoh, meaning Yahaba had over 12 hours to go about his task. They could also use Terushima’s help for this new scheme, but if it was all a trap, then there was no urgency in reaching out to the imperiled scientist even if Shigeru had a convenient way to do so.

“All right. I’ll call you in the morning,” Yahaba said, “once I’ve done my research and verified it’s all legit.” They each signed off from the call, Yahaba with a whole new round of adrenaline sweeping through him.

His newfound fervor evaporated when he realized Kentarou had reopened the bedroom door.

“Who’s Kenma?” he interrogated.

“Oh, uh, something to do with work,” he fibbed with an extremely unpersuasive smile. Kentarou shut the door firmly, and Yahaba heard it lock. “Hey!” he bellowed, jiggling the knob and banging on the wood. “My clothes are in there!”

There was no response. Yahaba’s head thudded against the surface in dismay, and he resigned himself to the living room.

Beside the window was a home office setup with Kyoutani’s PC. When he motioned towards it, his coffee deprivation the last couples of hours made him nearly trip. Instead he made way to the kitchen cabinet where his boyfriend always stocked the caffeine. He flung open the cabinet door ravenously, but in lieu of coffee beans, what greeted him was a solitary box of tea bags.

“Why can’t you drink coffee like a normal person?!!!!!”

 

* * *

 

**Tuesday November 10, 7am Miyagi time**

Yahaba awoke on the sofa around 7am. Hearing Kyoutani’s keys jingle, he pretended to still be asleep until his host was out of the apartment. A few minutes later, Shigeru forced himself over to the PC.

When Kentarou’s computer brought up the login screen, Yahaba squinted at the obnoxious blue light.

“If I were Ken, what password would I use?” He lazily typed in vain hopes he could avoid physically having to hack the PC: “I…hate…Oikawa.”

The computer dinged happily and presented the desktop. At first unsure why the computer let him in, Shigeru finally wanted to strangle Kentarou for ignoring all his advice about password security.

Nevertheless, resisting an oncoming caffeine-deprived headache, he got to work. First he snatched a notepad and jotted down everything of relevance Futakuchi had told him last night. While he studied the scribblings, 45 minutes had passed since waking up, at which time the condo door unlocked. Kyoutani waddled in with a plastic bag, tersely glancing at Shigeru in front of his PC before silently setting the groceries on the counter and emptying eggs, bacon, and bread leaving one item in the bag.

“Did you eat?” Ken croaked, seemingly unbothered by Shigeru breaking into his computer. (It was almost to be expected.)

“N-no,” Yahaba stuttered.

“K,” Ken said simply as he took out a frying pan. In the awkward lull that followed, the nude Yahaba slinked into the bedroom to get dressed, leaving his cell phone on the desk by the computer. “Your phone buzzed,” Kentarou announced when Yahaba reappeared a minute later.

The mission phone’s log recorded a few new missed calls from Semi, the one most recent stretching back to 4am. It appeared Semi made no attempts to contact him for a five-hour stretch during the night. Regardless Yahaba still wasn’t in the mood to converse with the surrogate-Shirabu and proceeded to watch his partner pour scrambled eggs on one plate and a sunny-side up egg on another. He then added two bacon strips to each dish followed by a slice of toast, the first plate’s bread lavished in butter. Kyoutani set the scrambled egg plate at Shigeru’s normal seat and sat down at the second plate. Shigeru gaped at the meal for a second.

It was exactly how he liked it.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. Kentarou paused from his first bite to give him a grunt and a light nod.

They didn’t talk anymore. Yahaba’s head drooped with sleepiness when he cut into the eggs, prompting Kentarou to retrieve the last item from the grocery bag and thud it in front of Yahaba. It was Shigeru’s favorite brand of coffee.

“For you.”

Yahaba stopped chewing.  “You got this for me?”

“You said normal people drink coffee,” Ken replied nonchalantly. Yahaba almost choked on the food in his mouth.

But rather than acting offended, Ken laughed. A snicker turning into a full, deep-throated guffaw.

“What the heck are you laughing at?” Shigeru groused but not angrily.

“You, of course!” he chortled cheerily.

Yahaba somehow couldn’t help but grin and let out a small chuckle as well.

These were the times he missed. And yet, those times always found their way in. They always enjoyed each other’s company even when things were rough. Somehow, for each of their quirks and flaws—which to some were perplexing or inexcusable—they themselves could support each other.

And despite their problems lately, Kyoutani never abandoned him.

“Why do you keep letting me back in?” Shigeru, once the laughter subsided, said with more than a hint of melancholy.

Kyoutani, who despite his usually churlish appearance looked quite approachable when he smiled or came close to it, tilted his head curiously.

“Because you’re the only one who will put up with me.”

Shigeru grinned. “And you’re the only one who will keep forgiving me.”

As soon as he said those presumptuous words, his throat closed up. Had he really been forgiven?

But Kyoutani let out another raucous laugh. “You could be a mass murderer, and I’d still forgive you!” he applauded.

For some reason, that statement gave Yahaba pause.

As Kentarou settled once more and moved to sip some tea, Shigeru set down his coffee mug and brought both hands together before his chin.

“Listen, Ken. I _am_ going to quit,” he started, deciding to do what he felt was right, consequences be darned, “but there’s one more job I have to do. After that job is done, I’m leaving Seijoh for good.” He stared pointedly into the other man’s troubled eyes. “And I want you to come with me.”

Kyoutani set down his cup and allowed an intentionally dramatic pause to fill the room.

“Of course.”

Suddenly Yahaba’s shoulders felt free of a major burden.

However, Kyoutani leaned forward candidly. “So tell me what this job of yours is.”

In short order, Yahaba caved.

 

After apprising Kyoutani of as much as he needed to say without betraying the identity of his benefactors, Yahaba set about his work on Kentarou’s PC. It was an average home device with limited memory compared to Yahaba’s setup, so the few seconds it took each webpage to load was an excruciating nightmare. He couldn’t try pinging Terushima on such a slow machine, but he’d work around that obstacle once he vetted Futakuchi’s informant.

After plenty of digging across the internet, Yahaba found exactly what he needed.

The clincher especially was a social media post dating back to Keiji Akaashi’s days in college. There, he found a group selfie featuring five university students. A handsomely young Keiji was at the far right of the image. A man with silver hair and an elastic grin had one arm slung over Akaashi’s shoulder, a person Yahaba recognized from his previous research as Koutarou Bokuto. Tags identified the other three boys in the picture, one with the same name as Futakuchi’s contact.

The name and face of another person in the photo now stood out for a different reason, and Yahaba wanted to beat himself for not making the connection sooner. There was no doubt. Kenji’s lead was legit.

It was nearly 10am—approaching five in the morning in Nekoma where Kenji was, a bit too early to be phoning. In the meantime he’d do some more digging.

Kentarou fast found his BF’s research too academic for his liking and occupied himself with TV news coverage of the unfolding offensive in Datekou. Five hours in, the Miyagi Alliance’s forces appeared to be making headway. Then Ken’s phone chirped with a text from a friend of a friend.

“How’d it go last night ;)” read the message from Tooru Oikawa. Kyoutani did not like Yahaba’s companion from high school. He was a douchebag who’d do anything for his own gain, even throw a person under the bus. Kentarou only figured the guy had ulterior motives for randomly telling him Shigeru was back in Seijoh. Even with that knowledge, it took a day and a half for Kyoutani to work up the courage to go to Shigeru’s place. He wasn’t even going to go last night, except the urge in his gut compelled him.

“Fine. He’s at my place,” Kentarou typed back.

“O_o” was all that came in reply. Ken left the exchange at that.

Except for the occasional glances at the television, Yahaba worked without interruption until his mission phone shook on the desk. Semi was calling once again. With an exasperated sigh, Shigeru finally decided to bite the bullet.

“Yo,” he cheekily answered.

“Yahaba!” the Shiratorizawan screamed. “Where on earth are you?!”

“In hiding,” he goaded.

“Seijoh’s after you! You’re coming to the consulate!”

“Nope,” Shigeru said aloofly.

“You don’t have a choice in the matter, Yahaba,” Semi threatened.

“You’re wrong, buddy,” Shigeru quipped. “Adm. Shirabu said I had _total freedom_ as to how I accomplish this mission, and ‘total freedom’ means I don’t have to hide inside any consulate. Where I’m at is the best place for the mission’s success, you see?”

“Whatever that admiral told you,” Semi carped, “Shirabu works for _me_!”

“Oh, really?” Shigeru said sarcastically. “I don’t hear fancy naval ranks before _your_ name.”

“You have no clue who you’re dealing with!” Actually, Yahaba _did_ know who he was dealing with since he’d researched Eita Semi during some downtime. The man worked for Shiratorizawan intelligence and seemed the more likely person to be overseeing an espionage operation like this one. Yet for some reason Kenjirou Shirabu—allegedly just the military attaché to Karasuno—acted like the mission’s leader.

In any event, Yahaba knew one thing for sure: his mission phone was designed to be untraceable, so Semi was powerless to do anything to find him. “I’ll be in touch when I have an update,” he soppily finished. “Oh, and next time, get me the coffee I want.” He hung up perfunctorily.

“Who was that?” said Kyoutani.

“Some guy who doesn’t know his place,” Yahaba dismissed. Kyoutani smiled. _Which one of you two doesn’t know their place?_ , he jokingly thought to himself.

With Semi out of the way, Yahaba dug even deeper into the underpinnings of the Kenma Project; and after more than an hour of reviewing genetics theses, travel records, diplomatic communiques, and Lab 3 expense reports, he could nearly reconstruct the Kenma Project from its origin to the present. Even so, two matters remained to be settled: the logistics to carry out the revised sabotage plan, which would be primarily Futakuchi’s jurisdiction with his myriad underworld contacts; and locating the Kenma Project’s vital crux, a task best suited for Terushima.

That meant somehow getting back in touch with Yuuji.

“Lunch,” Kentarou said calmly, setting a plate with a sandwich beside Shigeru.

“Oh! Thanks,” he replied.

“Weren’t you going to call someone?” Ken asked. It took Yahaba a moment to parse Kentarou’s meaning. Then he swore and dialed Futakuchi.

“Bout time you called,” Kenji irritably answered.

“I was busy,” Shigeru grumbled. He told him the informant was the real deal and hung up shortly after so Futakuchi could finish arrangements on his end. It was 12:30 in the afternoon in Miyagi, 7:30am in Tokyo. Futakuchi would meet his contact in an hour and a half and hopefully get more leads. In the meantime, Yahaba pondered how to get back in touch with Yuuji. Since at last communication Terushima’s captors hadn’t found the wireless receiver or the camera, there might be a way to reinitiate contact. Due to Kyoutani’s sluggish processor though, doing so from here was not the most efficient endeavor.

He could easily get powerful enough equipment by regrouping with Semi.

Then Yahaba’s repressed concerns about his assignment emerged.

What was the real purpose behind this mission? Shiratorizawa was trying to pilfer high-level technology from the Tokyo Entente—that much was obvious. But why was a nation that officially was not at war trying to get their hands on what purported to be the most powerful weapon of all time?

Why was that operation abstrusely being handled jointly by an official in national intelligence and a naval admiral with other job descriptions?

Why was a supposedly friendly nation, Seijoh, ostensibly trying to interfere in that operation by capturing Yahaba?

And why did Shiratorizawa dare entrust such a mission to three private citizens with questionable morals in the first place?

Without Semi electronically watching his every mouse click here, now may be his only chance to find out who his actions were _really_ benefiting.

There wasn’t much he could find publicly of course, except that Eita Semi and Kenjirou Shirabu were actually well-acquainted prior to their professional careers taking different paths. But when he pulled up some diplomatic cables from the Shiratorizawan embassy in Karasuno, he found something of note: five weeks ago, before a state dinner hosted by the President of Karasuno, Semi reminded the military attaché Shirabu to talk to a Karasunoan general named Kei Tsukishima.

Yahaba couldn’t figure out who this Kei Tsukishima was. His duties weren’t publicly listed anywhere, though it seemed he was a high-placed functionary in Karasuno’s Department of Defense.

What in Karasuno was holding Shiratorizawa’s focus prior to the Kenma Project? There was no way to find out without hacking Karasunoan infrastructure. That was impossible on short notice; it’d taken Yahaba days just to calculate how to infiltrate Lab 3 flawlessly and without detection.

And then, when Yahaba took a cursory look at the protection protocols on Karasuno’s network, he swore he recognized a familiar chain of code. He jogged his memory until he remembered where he’d seen it three years ago.

Connection or not, hacking Karasuno’s infrastructure was actually much, much easier than he anticipated. It was a little after 2pm—Futakuchi’s rendezvous time—though Yahaba had completely forgotten about that. Yahaba didn’t plan to surf the foreign servers long, just take a quick peek and satisfy his curiosity.

What he discovered answered more questions than he ever realized he had.

Resting a shoulder on the window, Kentarou nudged the untouched sandwich towards his mate. Shigeru started and obligatorily took a bite. Kyoutani idly glanced outside, seeing two black cars out front surrounded by people in teal suits.

“Your friend’s here,” he announced, surmising Yahaba’s benefactor had located his boyfriend after all. Yahaba stepped over to the window and saw the vehicles. He realized instantly from the suits the agents wore that they were from the Chancellor Protection Unit.

“Dang it!” he shouted and feverishly withdrew from the Karasunoan servers and shut down the device. No time to sabotage the PC this time. Kentarou leapt over to the front door and pressed his ear to the surface. When Yahaba grabbed his mission phone and bolted towards the exit too, Kyoutani detected agitated noises outside.

“Don’t!” he whisper-yelled. He flagged Shigeru to go to the bedroom while quickly latching the door chain. It didn’t make a difference when the door was breached as the chain flew out of the drywall. When the first agent from Seijoh’s Chancellor Protection Unit entered, Kyoutani heaved one of the dining chairs onto his head.

Yahaba dashed into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Then, one gunshot.

Then another.

And suddenly, at the thought of the man he loved, Shigeru’s desire to flee completely wilted.

His phone snapped him out of his funk almost instantly when it buzzed in his palm. The caller ID was Futakuchi’s.

 _Dang it!_ , he swore internally. _Why do you always have to call at the worst time?!_

He dashed to the window and with a fell swoop hurled the device from the 10th-floor residence down to the street below. It exploded into a hundred pieces upon hitting the road, even the SIM card inside snapping in two.

The bedroom door burst open. Yahaba stood still at the window, breathing heavily but slowly before lethargically turning around.

What he saw startled him. An officer adorned in the Chancellor Protection Unit’s uniform stalwartly pointed a pistol at a kneeling and grimacing Kyoutani, bleeding from the chest.

“Surrender, Shigeru Yahaba,” the officer holding Kyoutani, the leader of the force, Yuutarou Kindaichi, threatened.

Only one thing was keeping Shigeru Yahaba from packing his bags and leaving Seijoh for good.

And right now, even if it meant he’d have to stay in Seijoh the rest of his life, Yahaba would do anything—anything at all—to protect that one thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should have been out on January 26, but RL forced a delay. According to the original events schedule, chapters would have been released one a month starting in February, but I will not possibly be able to make the February 23rd date. So I am planning the next chapter for March 30, 2019. As for the focus--well, that seems to change unpredictably so I won't venture to guess this time! XD
> 
> Please let me know what you think. Questions and clarification requests are always welcome! Let me know whose story you're excited to see the most!


	4. The Saga of Keiji Akaashi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot can happen in ten years or a lifetime.
> 
> Keiji Akaashi knows that well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look what’s out early!
> 
> Warning: things get slightly darker this chapter. Please read the endnotes when you have finished the chapter as well. (Chapter warning: implied character death)
> 
> \--  
>  _Previously on the Kenma Project: ___  
> Daishou: “Shall I take him outside and finish him off, Doc?”  
>  Akaashi: “Don’t be hasty, Lieutenant. … Actually, I want to have a word with Dr. Terushima.”
> 
> Yahaba found a group selfie featuring five university students. … A man with silver hair and an elastic grin had one arm slung over Akaashi’s shoulder, a person Yahaba recognized from his previous research as Koutarou Bokuto. … The name and face of another person in the photo now stood out…, and Yahaba wanted to beat himself for not making the connection sooner.
> 
> Akaashi: “That’s the first time Kenma’s opened his eyes. …Lieutenant, take Dr. Terushima to my office and guard him there. I’ll be in momentarily.”
> 
> The room bristled with scientific texts… and a picture of Dr. Akaashi with a goofily smiling silver-haired man. … Terushima lounged in the chair, twiddling a pen between his thumb and index finger. … He rotated the video camera-disguised implement to capture the layout of the space.
> 
> Yahaba: “Sorry, Terushima. You’re on your own.”  
> Terushima: “What?!”  
> \--  
> Timeline and character list, spoiler-free until at least Friday April 5, 2019: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1r_PdCGsNdRtqyc9Ij08sQ-1-SNgEB3wi5eh4hodU2bQ/edit?usp=sharing

**Ten years ago** – _National Genetics in Warfare Symposium, Itachiyama University, Fukurodani_

“…We have the infrastructure, we have the minds,” Kiyoomi Sakusa said through a face mask into the podium-mounted microphone. “Itachiyama University hosts the greatest personages in genetic engineering. Fukurodani _must_ take the lead in adapting humanity’s mastery of our own genome to the battleground before any other country succeeds in doing so.”

After a pause to signal he was finished, the crowd applauded. Sakusa stepped away as the debate emcee returned to center stage. In a chair on the opposite side of the platform, the man who was about to deliver a rebuttal sat stiffly.

“Thank you, Dr. Sakusa,” the emcee announced. “Now, speaking against the employment of genetic engineering in the context of war: Professor in the university’s Department of Genetics, Dr. Keiji Akaashi.”

Keiji approached the podium amidst obligatory clapping. While he adjusted the mic to fit his height, the audience patiently waited.

He spoke deeply, firmly. “Proponents of ‘clone armies’ or like-manner science fiction repeatedly claim that a genetically engineered force will somehow make war so horrifying that nations will renounce aggression altogether. I disagree. On the contrary, when the human face of the soldier is removed from battle, war cannot become anything but _more_ desirable….”

As he talked, Akaashi’s gaze rolled over the polite audience in the massive hall. While billed as just a national event, the symposium had attracted observers from beyond the country’s borders too. Loitering near the exit, attempting to appear disinterested, was the Karasunoan marine geneticist Tobio Kageyama. In a back row, wearing a pair of sunglasses and a snide grin, was the poorly disguised Yuuji Terushima. Near the front, with such a poker face that one couldn’t tell which side he supported, was the person who’d sequenced the feline genome, Tetsurou Kuroo.

In one respect, it was flattering that such prominent fellows in his field were here giving Keiji Akaashi the time of day.

But Akaashi knew better than that. None of them were here to see _him_. If anything, they were here for his counterpart, the head of the university’s genetics department, Kiyoomi Sakusa.

Except for one person.

When Akaashi concluded his speech, respectful applause developed. One slightly disheveled man in the front row, in a top-of-the-line suit that really seemed to hate its slobby wearer, clapped. He wore a soft smile, eyes staring directly into Keiji’s. Keiji knew the man probably didn’t understand a lick of the technical lingo that either he or his opponent had just uttered, but that didn’t matter. The man always made it a point to come to all of the doctor’s public speaking engagements.

After all, the man was Keiji’s fiancé, Koutarou Bokuto.

 

* * *

 

 **Monday November 9, approx. 5:20 p.m.** **Tokyo time** – _Lab 3, Itachiyama, Fukurodani_

“ _Sorry, Terushima. You’re on your own_ ,” came Yahaba’s voice.

“What?!” Yuuji exclaimed in the middle of Akaashi’s office, instantly drawing a dagger-stare from Lt. Suguru Daishou. Terushima slapped his hands over his mouth, futilely hoping he hadn’t shrieked as loud as he’d imagined.

“ _What_?” Daishou snapped.

Yuuji sprang up and pretended to be mesmerized by the textual collection on the bookshelf. “Sorry. It’s just…Dr. Akaashi has some extremely rare texts in here.”

“Sit down!” Daishou barked, and Yuuji reflexively complied. His haste didn’t improve Suguru’s mood though. The officer trudged closer until his face was right in Terushima’s. The pen that disguised the video camera was tightly in Yuuji’s fist against his chest, aimed directly at the officer literally breathing down his neck.

“Listen,” Daishou hissed, “I had to give up my lunch break to keep an eye on you, and I’m real pissed right now. The doc may want something from you, but if it were up to me, I’d take you outside right now and finish you off like smoked salmon.”

Yuuji tried not to visualize himself searing on a grill. His hand with the pen shook, not unnoticed by the hypertensive officer. Daishou took a look at the quivering implement that Yuuji had been fiddling with ever since they got here and summarily snatched it from his grip.

“And stop with that stupid pen!” he yelled. Yuuji lunged frantically as Daishou lifted up the device, threw it on the floor, and smashed it completely underfoot. The metallic crinkle the object made gave the lieutenant pause; and when he lifted his shoe, twinkling aluminum and copper wiring spread out like entrails. Daishou picked up and studied the object, one half dangling from the other by wires.

“So this is who you were talking to,” he grumbled, recalling the doctor’s chatter before they ambushed him in the lab. The pen only transmitted video while the fake stud in Terushima’s earlobe was what allowed him to communicate with Yahaba, but naturally he didn’t correct the officer. Daishou pocketed the device before a knock came at the door.

“What is it?!” Daishou barked. One of the base guards, Yoshiya Takachiho, peeked in.

“Sergeant Seguro has returned, Lieutenant. He asked to see you urgently.”

“Dang it. Bout time,” Daishou spat. “Watch this rat here until the doc shows up and make sure he tries no funny business.”

Daishou quickly shuttled out of the space. Good thing too, for his sake, as it would be another two hours before Akaashi finally made his appearance.

 

* * *

 

**Five years ago**

“…Now for stories from around the country,” a news anchor announced on the television. “Parliament today voted to suspend trade between Fukurodani and Datekou, the move coming a day after Nekoma cut economic relations with the island nation….”

Koutarou Bokuto on the couch, ankles crossed atop a coffee table, peeked over the tip of a beer bottle, his interest piqued.

“Good! Datekou stuff is _cheap_!” he yelled at the screen.

The living room, where Bokuto was, abutted the kitchen separated most of its length by a knee wall, which allowed Akaashi in the kitchen an unobstructed view of the screen and his partner while he sliced mustard-soaked canola on a cutting board.

“It’s not about it being cheap, Kou,” he said as he chopped. “The cost of production in Datekou merely happens to be lower than in Fukurodani, making it more profitable to outsource manufacturing there than produce the same items at home.”

“Sounds like a fancy way of saying _cheap_!” Kou reacted.

Keiji rolled his eyes in futility as he transferred the diced vegetables to two plates and ferried them to the dinner table. “Supper’s ready.”

Kou skidded into the kitchen, rolling into a chair in their suburban bungalow and resting the remote on the table. Keiji sat down and tapped the television volume up to catch the final word on the story before switching it off, Bokuto by then already demolishing the leafy dish.

“With the way things are, I’m starting to worry Dr. Sakusa was right about war coming.”

Bokuto spoke with a mouthful. “I thought you said that guy was crazy.”

“He is!” Keiji exclaimed. “That’s why I’m scared that I’m starting to agree with him.” Perhaps that very fear of war was why Akaashi’s boss at the university abruptly quit last week and, rumors were, left the country. It came as a complete shock to everyone.

Perhaps the greater shock was Akaashi had been appointed acting head in his stead.

“So you’re in charge now?” Bokuto asked upon swallowing. Keiji looked like a deer in the headlights.

“It’s not official,” he blushed. “They’ll make a decision later this week.” Even so, the powers-that-be had already decided to appoint Akaashi to the role permanently, and the grapevine knew it.

Bokuto stared at his husband’s red cheeks and then resumed eating a bit more slowly. The two were silent, Keiji lost in thought over what he would do as department head, Bokuto’s mind racing from the strangely empty feeling in his gut.

“Hey, Keiji? What would happen to you if war did break out?”

Akaashi stopped his fork in front of his mouth. He thought about the question briefly but could only shrug. “Nothing,” he said. He was too old for the draft, and they wouldn’t enlist tenured professors against their will anyway. “The university will just keep doing what it’s doing.”

Koutarou nodded with a sullen look. He spoke after another pause: “What do you think would happen to me?”

Keiji analyzed his usually upbeat partner and quickly figured this was another mood swing that Kou had been capable of ever since they met. “Nothing,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’re an assistant high school volleyball coach. Schools are still going to be open, and the athletic program won’t just _end_ because of fighting abroad.”

“But…,” Kou said in meek protest. He had wanted to say something for a while but wasn’t sure how to articulate it; he wasn’t actually sure what he was trying to communicate in the first place for that matter. Nevertheless, he forced out the best words he could. “…I don’t know what I’m _doing_ there.”

Akaashi’s fork clinked on the plate. “You’re raising those kids to be responsible adults, of course,” he objected, almost as a censure.

“But _how_? I’ve been there three years, and what have I done? Our team didn’t even make it past the third round in the tournament.”

“Winning isn’t everything,” Akaashi said.

Kou’s fists hit the table. “But it is to _them_!” Kou seethed, a startled Keiji gawking. “You weren’t there when the head coach introduced me—how he called me the ace of the team that won nationals. You should’ve seen it: the looks in those kids’ eyes as they thought, with _me_ around, they could actually _do_ it. They could actually win it _all_. They had a _chance_ now. And despite all my efforts to help them, empower them, inspire them, support them, reassure them, educate them, I have to watch them leave the court for the last time in tears as they wonder whatever it is they did _wrong_? Do you realize how _hard_ that is? To know that you’ve done everything you could for someone, and it was absolutely, totally useless?” Kou almost felt like he would cry as he stared at his hopeless palms. “When I was the ace, I could smash through anything. But now…here…I’m just helpless. I don’t even know why I bother.”

Akaashi frowned. Keiji played volleyball in high school too—even though he and Bokuto had been on separate teams, they frequently did training camps together. Having moved on with his own life, Keiji had naturally discovered not all the skills he practiced as a setter were transferable to real life. “There’s a difference between being an ace and being a coach,” he said, to state the obvious.

Bokuto knew that intellectually. Yet knowing it didn’t make his frustration go away. The problem was much deeper than that; that much he’d barely managed to figure out.

“I know that,” he moaned.

Bokuto had tried a lot of things in life: though he played volleyball in college, he was never scouted for the pros. He practiced his major, physical therapy with a special focus on young athletes, but was bothered that often the same kids came back with the same injuries because they wouldn’t prioritize their health properly. After leaving the field, he did odd jobs until he miraculously ran into Akaashi again a decade after college. They then realized what feelings had actually always been there between them; and finally, with his mate’s encouragement, Kou picked up coaching.

He liked coaching, yet why wasn’t he satisfied? Meanwhile, Keiji, the man he loved, who already had it all, was about to become the chief in his department at his workplace.

Koutarou couldn’t live up to that no matter what he did with his life.

That was why he wasn’t satisfied. He wanted to accomplish something of note like his spouse did every day.

“Then what’s the problem?” Akaashi curtly pressed.

And once Kou realized that, he knew he couldn’t say it out loud.

“Forget it,” Bokuto snapped, scraping up a bite from his plate and shoving it in his mouth.

“What’s the matter?” Akaashi pushed lightly.

Kou leaned forward angrily. “ _Forget_ it,” he gnashed. After driving his point into Akaashi’s heart with his glare, Kou grumpily continued chomping.

The silence was thick as fog. Keiji stared, unsure what exactly had just happened.

And then he shrugged it off and resumed eating himself.

 

* * *

 

 **Monday November 9, approx. 7:00 p.m. Tokyo time** – _Lab 3_

Enrapt with Subject 175’s vitals, the creation Akaashi affectionately called “Kenma” consumed him for the next two hours. The timing was a godsend. Tomorrow he was to deliver a progress report on the project to representatives of the three Entente nations, and now that he and his team had successfully spliced animal DNA into the base human’s, Keiji was guaranteed to assuage any fears about the initiative’s worthwhileness.

Only after two of his cohorts, called back in on short notice, arrived did Akaashi at last excuse himself to meet Terushima. One of Daishou’s minions, a man named Sakishima, informed him of the device uncovered on Terushima’s person and that it would be left for Dr. Suzumeda to analyze in the morning. Keiji was actually a little reassured. He much preferred that his conversation with his peer be unheard by anyone.

Down the hall from the office, Lt. Daishou cantankerously snacked on a protein bar, awaiting Dr. Akaashi to return to cut him off before he entered the room, but he was too busy complaining to his sergeant to notice when Akaashi made it to his quarters and shuffled inside.

Keiji appeared before Terushima with a big smile and politely dismissed Takachiho. Once he was alone with the red-handed spy, Akaashi sauntered to his seat, set down some printouts, and faced Yuuji with a frown.

“I heard about the device they found on you,” he said, “and since now nobody can hear us, I have a question for you.”

Terushima gulped.

Akaashi spoke with a congenial smile. “So…what do you think?”

Yuuji blinked. “Huh?”

“What do you think?” Akaashi repeated, grin unaltered.

Yuuji Terushima stared. This man…was asking for his professional opinion on his creation?

Terushima’s geeky side wouldn’t let an opportunity to gush pass by. “What do I _think_?! This is the most advanced genetic work I’ve ever seen! It’s _astounding_!”

Akaashi was so flattered he chuckled.

“I’m pleased to hear that from you,” he said. And before either of them realized it, they were airily chatting away. Terushima learned more details about the Kenma Project in the next thirty minutes than he ever possibly could have otherwise.

It was once Akaashi was convinced Terushima’s interest was sincere that he played his next hand.

“So, now let’s get down to business.”

Yuuji’s mood sank.

“Obviously somebody sent you here, but you may be surprised to learn that I am not concerned about that in the slightest. In fact, I had a completely different reason for calling you in here.” Terushima gulped, but Keiji’s smile was amiable. “Dr. Terushima, I would like to invite you to _join_ the Kenma Project.”

 

* * *

 

**Three years ago**

Across the continent of Tokyo, news of hostilities with Datekou broke a few hours after sunrise. In Fukurodani, school and work stopped for the prime minister’s speech. Business as usual then shut down immediately while recruitment centers spawned like rabbits in public buildings. Bokuto texted to say he would be heading home after helping set up an enlistment station in the high school. The university canceled classes after 10 a.m., and Akaashi instantly rushed to the grocery store to find it already cleaned out. He snatched what few essentials he could and sped home.

Preparing precooked yakiniku, Kou’s favorite, for a fast lunch, Akaashi had plenty of time to focus on the nonstop news coverage. Around noon, Fukunaga, an old friend of his and Bokuto’s from college rang him up; they chatted for half an hour about several topics, both of them relieved they would each probably be unaffected by the conflict since they were well far away from the distant frontlines.

Kou showed up much later than expected, but Keiji had calmly gone with the flow and reheated the yakiniku. Bokuto dumped his gym bag at the door and immediately set up in front of the TV without a hello.

“Leave the TV on and come eat,” Keiji called as he apportioned the barbecue onto two plates. Kou plodded to the table, the very antitype of his normal dynamism. They ate in silence, Keiji following the TV reporting, Bokuto rationalizing every excuse to not open his mouth and say what needed to be said.

It was a story about recruitment efforts, with a politicized plea for more enlistees that finally prompted him to talk. He a-bit-too-dramatically rested his fork on his plate and shivered before opening his mouth.

“I want to go,” he whispered.

“Go?” said Akaashi. Kou nodded. “Go where?”

Bokuto was silent. He spoke even quieter. “I want to fight.”

He almost hoped Keiji didn’t hear him, but the gradual horror that washed over his husband’s face told otherwise.

“You want to do what?” Keiji’s voice was calm, but it concealed utter discord swirling inside.

Head bowed low, Kou repeated, “I want to go fight.” He leadenly forked a piece of meat into his mouth.

“Why would you?” Keiji pointedly inquired.

“I spoke to the recruiter,” Kou said taking another bite, the pause building tension. “He said they’re going to be strapped for people, and they need strong, fit guys out there.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Keiji didn’t intend the question to sound angry but didn’t really regret that it did.

Kou had no response at first. “I’m needed there,” and took another bite.

“You’re needed _here_!” Keiji shouted, pointing his fork at his spouse.

“To do _what_?!” Kou screeched. They stared each other down. Keiji looked like he would back off first, but Kou spoke up to maintain his momentum.

“I’ve thought this through. I even called Tora.” He didn’t mention that the fighter pilot from Nekoma didn’t answer his phone and that he’d only left a voicemail, but he was definitely going to talk to him for advice regardless. “And the recruiter said I’d pass all the tests—he said I’m _better_ than the average.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Keiji asked, referring to Kou’s evident decision to leave behind coaching.

“For too long,” Kou replied.

Keiji stared in silence.

“Keiji, I need to do this. For my sake and for the country.”

Bokuto wasn’t especially a nationalist. What he did know deep down was, by going out and fighting for his home, he would be doing something meaningful.

Something great and meaningful, just like his husband.

Keiji hadn’t seen this much resolve from Kou in a long time.

And with reluctance, he asked: “Are you sure about this?”

Bokuto nodded. “Yes.”

Akaashi forcibly cracked a smile. “Then I can’t stop you,” and he added almost sourly: “You’re too stubborn.”

Kou finally felt relief that he had the blessing of the one man from whom he needed it. He would do anything for Keiji, and therefore he needed his husband’s approval.

And perhaps fully aware that if he’d stood his ground Kou would have eventually given up, Keiji instantly regretted backing down.

 

* * *

 

**Present**

“You want me to _join_ you?” Terushima answered incredulously. Keiji bore a cocky smirk as if he had no doubt Yuuji would assent.

“That is my hope. I know your record. You have an exemplary mind.” He wandered to the bookshelf and opened a textbook. “But I understand your concern. After all, you’d be developing something that could be deployed against your country. But”—he peered over his shoulder at his stoic counterpart—“would it make any difference if I told you I don’t intend Kenma to be used on the battlefield?”

Terushima cocked an eyebrow.

Akaashi returned the book to the shelf. “Just as I’m familiar with your record, you may be familiar with mine. I have always publicly opposed adapting our knowledge of DNA to warfare. I may be receiving funding to use Kenma as a _soldier_ , but my actual hope is to apply the information acquired here to the greater benefit of humanity in _peacetime_. Funny how war opens up so many financial avenues.”

Truthfully, when Yahaba first stated that Keiji Akaashi had left his position at Itachiyama University to become head of the Kenma Project, Yuuji criticized the hacker’s research on the grounds it contradicted the scientist’s professional stance. It prompted Yahaba to dig even deeper, thereby uncovering what appeared to have been the catalyst for Akaashi’s change of heart.

Terushima snuck a glance at the portrait on the table, showing the doctor with his spouse long before they were married. “You’re right I know your record on the subject,” Terushima began, facing Akaashi, “but as far as not wanting Kenma to be used in war, I don’t believe you.” Akaashi turned and narrowed his eyes. “Because of Koutarou Bokuto.”

 

* * *

 

**Two and a half years ago**

Akaashi slumped in a swivel chair before the computer streaming his husband’s pixelated face from somewhere in Datekou.

“Welp, tomorrow’s the day.” Kou stretched his fingers over his head until the knuckles popped. As Kou was going through training, the war ballooned around him. Every nation except the reclusive mercantile country of Wakutani and the solitary powerhouse on the continent of Hyogo, Inarizaki, had been drawn into it in one way or another.

And now, Koutarou Bokuto was hours away from seeing the frontline for the first time himself.

“Are you going to be all right?” Keiji asked rhetorically.

“I’m scared shitless,” Kou whispered at the microphone on his laptop. “But I’m so _done_ with training. The drill sergeant was a real pisser, hey, hey, hey!”

“Should you really be saying that?” Keiji cautioned with a grin.

Koutarou cupped one hand beside his mouth and pretended to yell while whispering loudly. “The drill sergeant sucks!” He winked at the camera.

Keiji chuckled, even if his insides felt like they were inwardly screaming.

“By the way, you wanna know where we’re attacking tomorrow?” Kou eagerly asked.

“Are you supposed to tell me?”

“No.”

“Then don’t.”

“Sendai City.” Kou beamed.

Akaashi rolled his eyes. “There you go.”

Bokuto giggled. Then his head snapped to a person talking off-camera.

“Oh. Sorry. Gotta go,” he grinned softly. “I’ll call you after my battlefield debut! I love you.”

“I love you too, Kou,” Keiji replied, but the connection froze before closing, and he wasn’t sure if his farewell went through.

Keiji rolled back from the desktop with a deep exhale.

A vacuous feeling arose in his stomach. He gulped some antacid to no avail while he began to have trouble controlling his breathing, even resorting to prayer to try to calm himself. He was scared and he knew it. It was late, and he needed to rest since he had work in the morning.

As he lay awake in bed, he wondered why Kou was off fighting some war over an arbitrary political squabble? Why did people have to risk their lives for things like this in the first place?

He tossed and turned as the hours ticked by, finding himself getting up repeatedly to check if Kou was online. He never was, for good reason. Finally Keiji fingered him a message: “Stay safe.” Then the tightness in his chest finally subsided enough for him to return to bed and fall asleep.

The next morning, there had been a typed reply:

“i will”

Two days later, the media announced the fall of Sendai City, Datekou’s capital, and the capture Prime Minister Yasushi Kamasaki.

 

Koutarou Bokuto never called back.

 

* * *

 

**Present**

Akaashi looked like a deer in the headlights while Terushima glared from calling the man’s bluff. How the Johzenjiite knew the name he just uttered was beyond him, but it didn’t matter. He’d been found out.

“Fine,” he frowned, returning to the desk sternly. “I had an awakening if you will.” He looked Yuuji in the eye. “But I wasn’t lying about one thing: I truly do not care who employs my technology, be it the Alliance or the Entente. I merely wish no one else has to suffer as I have.” Keiji took a seat, neatened the stack of printouts, and slipped them in a drawer. “Well, since you have no intention of assisting me, you’ll be handed over to the Army—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Terushima interjected energetically. “Who said I wasn’t going to join you?”

And for Akaashi, time seemed to stop.

Terushima continued before Keiji could even answer: “Didn’t you hear me earlier?! This is the most innovative work I’ve ever seen! I’d _kill_ to work on something like this!”

“You’re…going to join?”

“Of course!” Terushima threw out his arms in exhilaration.

Akaashi’s breathing tensed up until he realized the man wasn’t joking. Left unspoken earlier was the fact that it had taken many failures to reach the current point. Akaashi needed other consummate minds alongside himself, and from the moment he recognized Yuuji Terushima in the lab earlier that day, he’d been fantasizing about inducting him into the research team.

After outlining the conditions of Terushima’s cooperation, including his permanent residence on the base, Akaashi finally invited his new cohort to the lab to check on things.

“By the way,” Terushima asked as Akaashi reached for the doorknob, “there’s something I’ve always wondered. Dr. Sakusa—is he really as eccentric as they say?”

Keiji smirked. “More than you would believe.”

He opened the door, revealing Lt. Daishou’s irate face and his deputy, Sgt. Akihiko Seguro.

“Doc, we need to talk,” Suguru growled.

And then a short, frantic figure in a lab coat galloped down the hall. “Dr. Akaashi!” The man skidded to a halt and clasped the head scientist’s arms.

“Dr. Shibayama, what is it?” Akaashi stammered.

“Subject 175,” he huffed, “has died!”

 

Akaashi’s eyes bulged in horror.

“Kenma’s” newly revealed pupils had dilated vacuously. All vitals were flat. The other scientist in the lab, Dr. Wataru Onaga, frenetically studied the subject’s trends prior to his expiration. Yuuki Shibayama was doing the same thing at a different console. Terushima hovered nervously beside Akaashi while Daishou and Seguro irritably hung back, awaiting a moment when Akaashi wasn’t fully consumed by whatever disaster-above-their-paygrade had just unfolded.

“What happened?” Keiji mumbled incredulously.

“Metastatic growths appeared across his body,” Onaga said, examining a screen. “They appear to have originated from uncontrolled cell growth on the optic nerve.” The enormous pressure created by the tumor appeared to have caused the subject’s eyelids to open in the first place.

Keiji stumbled to the glass cylinder containing the deceased creation, his eyes shaking in defeat. How had the same problem that they once successfully countered reemerged?

Yuuji sidled to Shibayama and, to the surprise of the meeker man, began to scroll through Kenma’s code himself. Something caught his eye, and he signaled the shorter man to come closer.

“Is this the original code for cell development in the eyes?” he queried.

“It should be,” Shibayama presumed and began to skim himself. The way his eyebrows popped up in shock confirmed Terushima’s grave suspicions.

Meanwhile, Daishou’s patience was wearing thin. He had a critical security matter to address with the lead researcher, but before he could speak, Terushima piped up first.

“Hey, Akaashi. This DNA is _designed_ to promote malignant growth in the eyes.”

Akaashi blinked. “What?” He scuttled over to the monitor and beheld the same illogical sequence that Terushima had seen. Indeed, the code was fundamentally engineered to cause uncontrollable cell growth.

This was positively not the code they’d used when they initiated the optical enhancement a few months ago. Somehow, it had been altered.

“Where’s Dr. Kuroo?!” Akaashi yelled. The world’s leading expert on feline genetics, Tetsurou Kuroo was inducted into the team six months ago for this specific experiment. Hearing the absent scientist’s name made Daishou jolt, however.

“He was sick today,” Dr. Onaga guessed.

“Doc,” Daishou called but was ignored.

“When was he last here?” Keiji asked aloud.

“Yesterday morning,” Shibayama recalled. “When I was checking on the subject, he came in to do a special project he said. He examined a bunch of things, took several samples, and did some computer work for an hour. I just left him to it.”

“Doc,” Daishou repeated more direly.

“What kind of samples?” Akaashi pressed. He hadn’t asked Kuroo to do anything particular, so there was no reason from him to be in on a Sunday.

“Doc!” Daishou bellowed, finally getting everyone’s attention. He heaved. “We need to talk _now_.”

 

Leaving Terushima with the other two scientists, Akaashi, Daishou, and Seguro removed themselves to the corridor outside the D-9 lab.

“There’s a problem,” Lt. Daishou began. “Tetsurou Kuroo didn’t call or show up to work today. I had my sergeant check his house and….” He cued his subordinate to finish.

“The place was empty,” Daishou’s longtime deputy continued. “All the furniture was there, but some electronics were missing. His car was still in the driveway.”

“He’s been kidnapped?” queried Akaashi.

Seguro shook his head. “There’s no sign of a struggle or forced entry.”

“Meaning,” Daishou said, “he _defected_.”

Akaashi’s chin hit his chest. All of his hard work—the farthest they had ever progressed—had been sabotaged in the blink of an eye.

“It also means,” Daishou continued, “there’s a _leak_.”

Keiji eyed the head guard. “Where?”

“I dunno. But let’s start by interrogating that new friend of yours,” he hissed, referring to Terushima.

“No need,” Keiji said. “I’ve personally cleared Dr. Terushima. He will be joining our team on a permanent basis, and the matter surrounding him will not be reported outside these walls.”

“What?!” Suguru disbelievingly shouted. “Are you insane?!” It didn’t matter that it made no sense for an enemy actor to sabotage the project and _then_ plant a spy after the fact.

“May I remind you that _I_ am in charge of this facility by commission of the Entente and therefore my decision on this matter is closed?” Keiji threatened.

“If you’re gonna stand by your new buddy, then,” Suguru chided, “that leaves only two people who the leak could be.”

Akaashi backed off at that. He didn’t want to believe it, but the two people Daishou was referring to were by far the most likely suspects: they weren’t under constant observation, they knew more about the project than by any rights they should, and they had the strongest motivation to shut it down.

Two of his oldest friends: Shouhei Fukunaga and Taketora Yamamoto.

“Don’t you dare harm them,” Keiji threatened. Daishou was the type to overstep his bounds—for all Akaashi knew, it may have been why the lieutenant and his unit were assigned to Lab 3 since the project’s inception, as some kind of exile—and Keiji wished no suffering upon the people Daishou wished to interrogate.

But, to his surprise, Daishou donned a showy grin.

“As you wish, Doc,” he sang. “Sergeant, let’s talk.”

 

Upon perfunctorily exiting the “D” section of the lab, Daishou let out an irate roar. “That quack makes me so mad!”

“What are your orders?” Seguro asked.

Daishou gnashed his teeth. “Take Hiroo, Sakishima, and Takachiho to Nekoma and interrogate the guy from that apartment. I’ll deal with that pompous Air Force ace.”

“Even though the doctor said don’t harm them?”

“I don’t care what he says. The security of this facility is _my_ responsibility. If it turns out that guy’s a rat, liquidate him.”

 

After gleaning what he could from Onaga and Shibayama, Terushima was eventually guided to an unused office to spend the night. With the door locked behind him, he scanned the windowless, claustrophobic space where only unplugged cords remained of a computer workstation. Even if he could escape, he had nowhere to go. He tried reactivating the comm in his earring, but Yahaba didn’t pick up.

His only option was to wait then.

And, he hoped, somehow smuggle out the workings of Kenma from under Akaashi’s hapless nose.

If not to give to Adm. Shirabu, then at least to keep for himself.

 

Several hours later, Akaashi finally sent Shibayama and Onaga on their way and retired to his office. His head pounded and sweat pooled on his face.

With the most recent failure, the boast he had for tomorrow’s meeting was gone. He could hardly divulge anything surrounding Terushima or Kuroo either; the fallout would be enormous. He swallowed a painkiller and gave up thought of going home when the portrait on the table caught his eye.

He stared at Koutarou’s face beaming in defiance of the passage of time.

He held the picture frame and began to cry.

No. He _had_ to get the funding. Which meant he had to succeed next time without fail. If the Entente shut him down, it would have all been in vain.

“Kou…I’m sorry.”

As if trying to get even closer to the past, Akaashi undid the backing on the frame and slid out the card inside. In reality, the image of him and Bokuto was a wider image that had been folded in half, and Keiji viewed the whole thing now.

The full image depicted five people, taken with an old-fashioned film camera on the cusp of its technological obsolescence. One of the other three people in the image grinned proudly, another bore a soft smile, and the third could barely crack his mouth upwards.

Keiji ran his fingers over the rough surface—the once glossy finish feeling gritty—as he beseeched each person as his fingertips passed their visage.

“Fukunaga…Tora…Kenma…please forgive me.”

 

* * *

 

**Two and a half years ago**

Nine days after the Battle of Sendai, the letter from the War Ministry arrived at Akaashi’s house. It came later than customary, but its tardiness made its haunting contents no less foreseeable. Koutarou Bokuto had been killed in action.

Keiji spoke to no one for three days. He took off work and stayed indoors. Akaashi had never been one to drink, but now Keiji found himself resorting to alcohol more than he liked. Though many people, including his old college gang, attempted to give their condolences, he never replied to any texts or answered or returned any calls. One man in particular bugged the heck out of Keiji, calling and texting repeatedly, but Akaashi let it ring so much he eventually ceased bothering to check the display.

Then, one morning, as Keiji lay in bed with his phone on the nightstand, his doorbell rang.

_Ding-dong._

If only Kou hadn’t have gone, he thought.

_Ding-dong, ding-dong._

Why did Akaashi let him go? Why didn’t he stop him?

_Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock! Ding-dong._

Why did he _have_ to go? Why was it even necessary?

_Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing-dong. Ding-dong. Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!_

Why did people have to expend their lives in war in the first place? Why wasn’t there another way?

Akaashi had rolled onto his back when his phone now rang. The sound was blotted out of his mind, but right before it went to voicemail he gave the caller ID a peek.

It was that same person. Akaashi stared lifelessly at the name, as if doing so would make it go away.

Why on earth did he want to talk so badly?

As soon as the phone hung up, immediately:

_Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong._

The noise aggravated Keiji’s splitting headache, and at last he was ready to snap to make his incessant visitor go away.

_Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing-dong!_

That was it. Keiji leapt out of bed, stormed furiously into the living room, and whipped open the front door.

“What do you want?!”

Only after the utterance did he comprehend who was on his doorstep.

The person outside seemed unfazed by the verbal assault. He only glared, his long, naturally black hair dyed two-thirds blond at the end.

“Kenma?” Akaashi muttered.

The man presented his phone with Akaashi’s contact info on display. “How bout you try answering your phone for once?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might not be what you were expecting, and I'm sorry for that. However, believe it or not, this is not the end of Bokuto's subplot. So don't kill me just yet please!
> 
> I tried really hard to find the right balance of "saying too much" and "saying too little" in this chapter. My apologies if it's a bit confusing nonetheless. I welcome questions or comments or requests for clarification.
> 
> We will find out soon enough what's going on with Kuroo and the other people in that photo: Tora, Fukunaga, and "Kenma." But before then, it's high time we revisited that Shiratorizawan aircraft carrier that was attacked in chapter 2, meaning our next installment is the **Shirabu** chapter, featuring Kenjirou's real goal, his exact relationship with Semi, and the return of Chikara Ennoshita!
> 
> Hypothetically, it should be published on April 28, but for a couple of reasons, I don't want to schedule it that soon. However, I need to speed this story up, so I am planning for Saturday May 11. Hopefully see you sooner! Don't forget to comment.


	5. For the Glory of the Nation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shirabu wanted some excitement. What he was given was the chance to change the course of history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look what's out two weeks early! I'll be honest, a huge reason this chapter got done so soon was the two comments that came in shortly after last chapter was published. Your thoughts inspired me so much I managed to complete the first draft of this chapter much faster than expected.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys~
> 
> To review the map, timeline, and character list (spoiler-free until at least May 4th), click here: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1r_PdCGsNdRtqyc9Ij08sQ-1-SNgEB3wi5eh4hodU2bQ/edit?usp=sharing
> 
> \--  
>  _Previously on the Kenma Project:_  
>  Ennoshita: “Kenjirou Shirabu?”  
> Tanaka: “He’s the military attaché in Karasuno. Apparently around the time this researcher was approached, this Adm. Shirabu was asking probing questions of a high-level official….”  
> Ennoshita: “This happened almost a month ago, and they’re only bothering to tell us now?”
> 
> Yahaba found something of note: five weeks ago, before a state dinner hosted by the President of Karasuno, Semi reminded the military attaché Shirabu to talk to a Karasunoan general named Kei Tsukishima.
> 
> Lieutenant Yuutarou Kindaichi…was part of the Chancellor Protection Unit. … He…had been in Karasuno over a month ago during a state visit by the chancellor….
> 
> A dark, circular scar was obvious where Semi’s shoulder met his neck.  
> Semi: “That’s where a sniper shot me three weeks ago….”
> 
> Yahaba hurled the [phone] from the 10th-floor residence down to the street below. It exploded into a hundred pieces upon hitting the road….
> 
> PA: “Capt. Goshiki, please come to the bridge immediately.”
> 
> …From a compartment near the rear of the ship escaped a terrifying blast of fire, ejecting a projectile into the sky…  
> PA: “Adm. Shirabu, you have an urgent call on the bridge. Please report to the bridge.”
> 
> Ennoshita: “Admiral, my name is Chikara Ennoshita, and I am with the CIB. I was sent here to arrange your transfer to the _Torono_ because of Shigeru Yahaba.”
> 
> Shirabu: “Hit the deck!”  
> Three seconds later…two air-launched missiles slammed into the [aircraft carrier] _Utsui_ above the waterline….  
>  \--

**Five weeks ago** – _Karasuno_

When Kenjirou Shirabu was appointed the military attaché to Karasuno three years ago, the admiral saw it as the end of his ascent through the naval hierarchy. Relegated to an advisory role was duller than watching paint dry on the side of an underway warship, even if it made him party to military strategy. Nevertheless, he spent days cooped up in the Shiratorizawan embassy, juggling his country’s interests with those of their informal ally; and when out of the compound, he kept up appearances at social functions.

Thus, when an old acquaintance tapped him to acquire some intel, Shirabu was more than thrilled. The request was juicily simple. All Shirabu had to do was make a certain official named Kei Tsukishima divulge anything about what his office in the Defense Department was in charge of. Rumor had it he would make a rare showing at a soiree for the visiting Chancellor of Seijoh.

So Shirabu’s attendance at this particular party was a bit more stimulating than usual. He hated social functions to death and would have liked to have talked to his target and sneaked back to the embassy promptly. But any party always came with a certain, begrudging requirement:

Mingling.

“Greetings, Deputy Prime Minister,” Shirabu said to the visitor from Datekou. Owing to the presence of two world leaders, the turnout for this gathering was unusually diverse and easily attracted Kanji Koganegawa who had been in town already on other business. Today he wore on his arm a slender woman, different from any of the previous partners he’d been seen with. Gossip abounded about how the deputy prime minister spent his free time, with this girl being his current side gig.

“Have we met?” Kogane, an almost empty wine glass in hand, haughtily asked. The woman beside him appeared supremely bored.

“I’m Adm. Kenjirou Shirabu, the military attaché from Shiratorizawa.”

“Ah, yes,” Koganegawa said, pretending to be in the know and, more importantly, pretending to care.

“How long do we have to be here?” the woman on Kanji’s arm indecorously whined.

“I’ll tell you when we can leave,” he gnashed irksomely.

“I seem to be bothering you,” Kenjirou spoke, happy for the chance to escape. He bowed prudishly to the woman. “I hope he treats you better than the last one.”

Kogane’s face looked like he’d seen a ghost while the girl was mightily baffled.

“The _last_ one? Kanji, what does he mean?”

“N-n-n-n-nothing!” he stammered. Shirabu pattered away, completely unbothered. He glanced over the other attendees, looking for faces that stood out. To one side, getting hors d’oeuvres, was the chairman of Karasuno’s Joint Chiefs of Staff, Gen. Daichi Sawamura; elsewhere, the Secretary of Defense, Koushi Sugawara, chatted with the petite vice-president, Hitoka Yachi. And ahead, surrounded by agents of Karasuno’s Secret Service and Seijoh’s Chancellor Protection Unit, was the guest of honor, Chancellor Akira Kunimi, finishing up a tight conversation with the President of Karasuno himself, Tadashi Yamaguchi.

Yamaguchi wasn’t an intimidating man. His amiable disposition made him look like a pushover, but he had an unspoken will thoroughly buried in interpersonal exchanges. To his right at this moment was his omnipresent advisor Makoto Shimada. And to his left, perched close to the president to discourage anyone from approaching, was the man Shirabu sought: General Kei Tsukishima.

“I must say you have an excellent security team here,” the chancellor remarked.

“I’d say you do as well,” the president chuckled before one of the visiting head of state’s escorts sidled into the room. “In fact, I think another one just arrived.”

Kunimi took a glance at one of his senior officers, Lt. Yuutarou Kindaichi, who had belatedly slinked into the room.

“Ah, yes. Well, I shall not keep you, Mr. President,” he excused himself and ambled to the new entrant. Kunimi exited with Kindaichi into the hallway for privacy. Shirabu, visiting with Gen. Sawamura, observed the chancellor’s exit over his conversation partner’s shoulder.

Sawamura shortly pardoned himself, recommending the shrimp hors d’oeuvres, but before Shirabu could approach Tsukishima standing behind the president, the consul-general from Inarizaki, Shinsuke Kita, had already moved in for a chat, with Vice-President Yachi now in the conversation as an observer. Shirabu instead moseyed over to the now unoccupied Secretary of Defense.

However, Shirabu could feel his opportunity to greet his target slipping away. The quiet Tsukishima was remarkably out of place among the socialites. Normally the asocial general, whom Kenjirou occasionally saw around the Defense Department, avoided public gatherings but had been badgered into attending this one by his longtime friend, the current president. However, the antsy Tsukishima felt he’d spent enough time at the shindig, and—after Inarizaki’s consular officer excused himself to get a drink, at the same time as Kunimi and Kindaichi reentered the room—Tsukishima spoke to the president.

“Yamaguchi, I think I’ll head out now.”

“Really?” Yamaguchi queried, more surprised than he admittedly should have been. “Well, I’m glad you came, Tsukki.”

“You should get some punch!” Yachi, cradling a cup herself, excitably piped.

“Yes, you should,” Yamaguchi nodded firmly.

Kei sighed. “Do I have to?”

“No,” shrugged Yamaguchi. “But if you don’t, I’ll draft an Executive Order to make you.” He snickered.

Tsukishima rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he moaned.

As Sugawara and Shirabu parted ways—the Defense Secretary also recommending the savory shrimp—Kenjirou spied his target leave the safety of the president and plod over to the punchbowl filled with orange liquid. Shirabu made his way nonchalantly to a tray of the lauded crustaceans on the same table. Another attendee holding a glass was casually swooping in on Gen. Tsukishima but swerved upon sighting Shirabu and then coolly took a seat at the nearest table with his back to the pair.

As Tsukishima tipped the ladle into a cup, Shirabu sucked the succulent seafood.

“Karasuno shrimp really is something,” he admitted aloud. Kei gave the unprompted speaker a cursory glance. “I recall concerns several years back about the sustainability of the industry. I’m glad those fears have been allayed.” He gazed at the native to force a comment. Tsukishima peered again and knew from the man’s gaze he was socially obligated to respond.

“I suppose some people like them,” he said unconcernedly.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Adm. Kenjirou Shirabu, the military attaché from Shiratorizawa.”

“How nice for you,” Kei, ignoring Shirabu’s palm extended for a handshake, curtly rebuffed.

“I’ve seen you with the Secretary of Defense from time to time,” Kenjirou said undeterred. “What is your department in charge of?”

“Studying the military uses of curling irons,” Kei dryly bluffed.

“Oh? And what have you found?”

“They don’t work well on tanks.” He cagily studied the converser, unable to read the foreigner’s game.

“Shame,” Shirabu shook his head, playing along. Kei took a sip of punch and was about to slide away when Kenjirou continued. “How’s the president these days?”

“Why are you asking me?” Kei rudely spurned.

“You seem to be on good terms with him,” the admiral shrugged. “I like him. I hope he wins reelection next year.”

Kei peered at the head of state; as far as his reelection went, Kei wasn’t really afraid if he were honest. “He’ll make it through,” he said. “He always does.” The final comment piqued Shirabu’s interest, but he didn’t want to pursue a rabbit trail with the impatient general.

“Indeed.”

Kei set down his punch glass, about to skedaddle again.

“You know, you and I have a lot in common,” Shirabu said, vexing the Army officer. “We are both basically bureaucrats in a system that depends on us doing our jobs yet unable to fix the problems of the system that employs us. The war continues stagnantly, neither of us able to do anything about it.”

“Perhaps,” Kei said, “but things will change soon enough.”

“Really? And how do you know that, General?”

Kei flinched and Shirabu definitively noticed; judging from the reaction, Tsukishima’s last remark wasn’t a meaningless slip of the tongue.

_Things will change soon enough._

Tsukishima glared, knowing full well he’d fallen into a trap. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment across town,” he lied and scampered away. Shirabu made no move to stop him. He’d gotten as much information as could be expected and hoped it would be useful to Semi regardless. That he’d gotten any info at all from someone as tightly wound as him was enough to feel proud.

Yamaguchi and Yachi giggled with Gen. Sawamura when the hasty Kei halted beside the head of state.

“Leaving so soon, Tsukishima?” Sawamura asked.

“Yamaguchi,” Kei began ominously.

“Yes?” said the president.

Kei peered at Shirabu idly enjoying another piece of shrimp. As unsettled as he was, he wanted to believe that the Shiratorizawan admiral couldn’t do anything nefarious with what he’d said about his branch’s top-secret endeavor. No, the matter was nothing to bother Yamaguchi about right now. Kei would wait for things to pan out, for further suspicious indicators before alarming the president with the possibility of Shiratorizawan espionage.

“Actually, nothing,” he said and tersely floated out of the room. After Tsukishima exited, Shirabu checked his watch and resumed his obligatory networking with the copious attendees, ignoring the guest sitting at the table nearby.

That guest, whose attempt to talk to Tsukishima had been preempted by the Shiratorizawan admiral, pretended to be contemplating but had actually eavesdropped on the entire exchange behind him. From it, he had drawn two conclusions.

One, had he himself attempted to speak to Tsukishima, his efforts to get information likely would not have gotten any farther either.

Two, judging from Shirabu’s questions, apparently his team needed to keep a closer eye on Shiratorizawa.

 

* * *

 

 **Three weeks ago** – _Shiratorizawa_

Seated, Kenjirou Shirabu stretched both arms over the back of a row of chairs in a hospital waiting room, dully waiting as time ticked by. He felt awkward in civilian clothes, but circumstances required it.

From the corner of his eye, a stately gentleman waltzed out of the patient area. The genteel but imposing figure quietly took a seat in the row that backed up against Kenjirou’s, intentionally placing himself one seat over from the out-of-uniform admiral. They pretended not to notice each other, the new entrant sitting calmly with hands in his lap gazing at a plaque with their country’s name in kanji above the nation’s eagle-emblazoned flag.

“Funny how the ‘shiratori’ in ‘Shiratorizawa’ means swan,” the man equably said.

It was a code. Kenjirou bent forward deeply and muttered the reply: “Yet the symbol of the nation is a great white eagle.”

The pair made peripheral eye contact. The other man chuckled and shut his eyes.

“Come,” he said.

 

Reon Ohira, the man who’d vetted Shirabu in the lobby, guided the admiral to a hospital room guarded by a Special Forces soldier. Ohira privately advised his boss in the room of Shirabu’s arrival and showed the admiral in. Once Shirabu was inside, a male in a hospital bed dismissed the guards in the room.

Even before Shirabu entered, Eita Semi was sitting upright in bed, the curtains blocking out all light. He was shirtless, his left shoulder topped in a bulky white cloth, tautly held in place by bandages circulating his torso. Kenjirou didn’t know why the intelligence officer summoned him but he already knew the cause of his colleague’s injury:

Just yesterday, Eita Semi almost died at the hands of an assassin.

To say they were friends was awkward; fate had simply forced them together countless times—in higher ed, military training, signals intelligence—until they almost intentionally parted ways: Shirabu for a career in the navy, Semi going into special operations. People might assume they got along well.

They’d be wrong.

“What a _sorry_ state to see you in,” Shirabu stoically chided.

“You try getting shot,” Semi snorted.

“I have. It’s not fun,” Shirabu rejoined. “Do you know who did it?” he asked after a frustrated pause.

“That’s what Ohira is trying to find out…but I already told the president what I think is the reason why.”

“Is it because of Karasuno?” Shirabu asked, in reference to his questioning Kei Tsukishima a fortnight ago.

“You wouldn’t know this,” Semi said, “but the operation in Karasuno was put on hold, and that’s the reason I called you here now.”

Shirabu cocked an eyebrow.

“Not too long ago,” Semi continued, “we picked up some chatter in Tokyo that they had made important progress on something called ‘the Kenma Project.’ I was beginning preparations to infiltrate the project when _this_ happened.” He glanced at the thick padding on his shoulder. “The president ordered the assassination attempt covered up to trick the perpetrator into thinking they’ve silenced me, but no doubt they will figure out soon enough I’m alive.”

“So, in other words,” Shirabu pointedly interrupted, “while you’re supposedly laid up due to injury, you want me to investigate this thing called Kenma because the person who tried to kill you won’t notice if someone outside national intelligence is conducting your activities in your stead.”

“Let me _finish_!” he gnashed angrily, mostly upset his thinking was that transparent.

“Am I wrong?” prodded Kenjirou. The veins bulged on Semi’s forehead so visibly Shirabu wondered if the man’s wound might reopen.

Semi exhaled to calm himself and sighed. Kenjirou’s intellect and shrewdness were the reasons he wanted his longtime cohort to oversee the mission in his place after all; in a weird way, it was reassuring. “I already have the blessing of the president. All the mechanisms of the state would be at your disposal. For as long as I’m officially out of commission, the entire operation would be in your hands. You’re the only one I can entrust this with, if you’ll take it.”

“Oh, I’ll gladly take the chance to show you up.” Semi jolted, but Shirabu cut Semi to the quick. “But why? We’re not officially at war with the Tokyo Entente, so why does anything they or Karasuno is doing matter in the first place?”

“I’ll get to that,” Semi said cryptically.

“Please do,” Shirabu snootily replied. Semi was ready to slug his companion.

“We only have a vague idea what ‘Kenma’ is—it could be ballistic, nuclear, cyber, or even organic in nature—but whatever it is, it will completely change the nature of war if it’s finished. It has been decided that _we_ must get our hands on that technology first in order to control it. Why is that so important? I think you already know. Thirty years ago, Tokyo would never have taken any action that could have risked a war with Shiratorizawa. The fact they dared invade any part of Miyagi is evidence we are not the great deterrent to violence we once were. If Tokyo completes this project, the Entente will conclusively become the hegemon of the new world order. We can’t let that happen, and President Ushijima agrees. In other words, sabotaging Kenma and stealing it for ourselves isn’t simply about helping Miyagi win the war….”

“…This is for the glory of the nation,” Shirabu interrupted and finished.

And there it was. For how much they often didn’t get along, both men were united in one point: the desire for their country to be the greatest in the world. For Shirabu, that desire was arguably even stronger than his counterpart’s. As part of a navy that was hopelessly content to watch other countries do its dirty work, Kenjirou’s mouth curled upward with excitement.

At last, he had something truly interesting in his professional life. And it was one more reason why Semi had no doubt Shirabu would execute the task to the utmost.

“The hard part,” Eita resumed with a different tune, “is recruiting a team. To maintain the ruse that we’ve abandoned looking into Kenma, you should avoid employing our trained operatives.”

“I already thought about that,” Shirabu spoke up, “and I already have some ideas. In fact, by my estimation, all we need our _three_ people: someone with underworld connections who can move about Tokyo freely, someone adept in cyberwarfare who can thwart any computer-based system, and someone with the requisite technical knowledge skilled enough to seamlessly go undercover in the facility where Kenma is.”

Mildly surprised at how quickly Shirabu was settling into his new role—and mildly frightened too—the proposal was far easier said than done, he thought. But Semi offered what little help he could:

“I think I have a lead on the first one. A couple of years ago, we freed a Datekouan by the name of Kenji Futakuchi from Entente imprisonment. I think he has the underworld connections you’re looking for.”

“There’s a catch,” Shirabu charged. Semi smirked, soaking up the chance to, for once, be the one throwing a curveball in their relationship.

“I actually approached him already, asking his assistance. He _refused_. Maybe you can make him cooperate, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. He’s a bit of a selfish jerk.”

“Don’t you worry. I’ll make him comply.” Shirabu made the statement with absolutely no doubt at all. Semi grinned evilly, actually eager to find out what magic Shirabu could pull.

Yup, if anyone could pull this task off, it was Shirabu.

 

* * *

 

While preparations were made for the other future members of Shirabu’s squad, the admiral went to work convincing the obnoxious Futakuchi to join. Led to believe that his rescue (during the mission to retrieve Prime Minister Kamasaki) was purely happenstance when in reality Shiratorizawa had intentionally freed the prisoner to use him as an intel source, the ungrateful former human smuggler had grown complacent in his two-and-a-half years of liberty. After finding out how deep his underworld connections ran, Kenjirou became convinced the guy was right for the job and went about cashing in a few diplomatic favors to _make_ him comply.

It culminated in a manila envelope dropped off at the residence of Kanji Koganegawa in Datekou. Inside was a simple photograph showing the deputy prime minister with a woman at a resort as well as a sealed second envelope with directions to call a phone number before opening. Koganegawa recognized where the photograph was taken and frantically dialed the number immediately.

“Where did you get that picture?” he demanded.

“Immaterial,” Shirabu anonymously replied, “but I don’t think it would be flattering for you if it came out that, while Prime Minister Kamasaki was exhorting soldiers in Sendai City all the way to his capture, you were canoodling at a beach resort.” Kenjirou told his captivated listener to open the other envelope. It contained various documents related to human smuggling, all referencing one Kenji Futakuchi.

“In there is sufficient evidence to charge Kenji Futakuchi with forgery, and immigration and customs violations. You have 36 hours to produce a public indictment of Futakuchi, and your cavorting will remain a secret.”

“That’s it?” Kogane asked.

“That’s it.”

30 hours later, Kogane called to say he submitted everything to the ministry of justice but cautioned they may not produce an indictment in time, and even if they did, it might be under seal. Shirabu repeated his initial terms. Five more hours later, Kogane told him it was done, and Shirabu confirmed through diplomatic channels of the indictment’s publication. In short order, Shiratorizawan authorities took Futakuchi into custody.

 

In the meantime, at Shirabu’s urging, agents in the national intelligence accelerated a preexisting inquiry into the mastermind of several ransomware attacks and successfully traced their origins to a computer programmer in Seijoh named Shigeru Yahaba. Shirabu told Semi and the president they needed Yahaba urgently for the mission. Wakatoshi Ushijima indicated the severity of the matter to Chancellor Kunimi, and when the chancellor retorted that extradition proceedings would take several months, President Ushijima threatened a reduction in Shiratorizawan military support if he didn’t comply. Unsympathetic for an international cybercriminal to begin with, Akira Kunimi personally made sure Yahaba’s rendition was complete in half a day.

 

Locating the last puzzle piece—a suitable spy—came only by happenstance. Shirabu attended a prescheduled walkthrough of a Health Department study into malaria. One researcher, a Johzenjiite named Yuuji Terushima, was immediately out of place among the homegrown staff. When Shirabu casually explored his past, strange coincidences emerged between his public work and private endeavors. When he got permission to bug the doctor’s apartment, he fortuitously caught the scientist red-handed sending data to a pharmaceutical company in Johzenji. And thus, two weeks before the next major offensive on the Datekou front scheduled for November 10th, Shirabu’s dream team was complete.

 

All the while, Kenjirou continued to act his role as military attaché. Following the last major conference, Yuu Nishinoya, the director of Karasuno’s Counterintelligence Bureau, inquired what the admiral thought of Shiratorizawa’s detainment of Shigeru Yahaba. Shirabu played coy.

Things continued as planned on all fronts: submarines inserted Terushima and Futakuchi in Fukurodani, Semi acted as go-between with Yahaba in Seijoh, and on a Monday evening, November the 9th, Shirabu temporarily placed Semi in charge of all matters before leaving port aboard the carrier _STZ Takashi Utsui_. Too busy dealing with the AWOL Yahaba (and with no desire to come crying to Shirabu for assistance if he could help it), Semi didn’t call Shirabu at all the next day. In fact, until a CIB agent named Chikara Ennoshita revealed himself on the _Utsui_ ’s deck on that Tuesday evening, Kenjirou had no reason to suspect things weren’t going as planned.

 

* * *

 

**Sunset, Tuesday November 10, approx. 6 p.m. Miyagi time**

Capt. Tsutomu Goshiki, the _Utsui_ ’s commanding officer, had accompanied Shirabu to meet his Karasunoan visitor hoping to watch whatever juicy conversation might follow—as unlikely as it was that anything particularly juicy would ensue. But an impromptu summons to the bridge destroyed his plans, and he pounded into the ship’s control room with a frown.

“What is it?!” he growled.

“There’s a call for you,” a crewmember announced, and Goshiki took the phone receiver.

“Capt. Goshiki. Who is this?”

“Captain,” Eita Semi began without introducing himself, “there is an ICBM traveling a westerly course passing over your location any second. You are to shoot it down at once.”

“And who are you?!” he objected furiously.

“I am a confidante of Adm. Shirabu! You are the only vessel with the capability to intercept that missile! You must neutralize it!”

“Then have the admiral give the order!” Goshiki spat. There was a chain of command, and whoever the anonymous speaker was, he was violating it.

“Your staff said he was _busy_ , and that’s why they called _you_! If you fail to shoot down that missile, I assure you Adm. Shirabu will have you court-martialed!”

The young captain reacted to that. Tsutomu Goshiki was a rising star—in his mind at least—and he wanted to keep building his status. The threat of his career figuratively torpedoed by failing to take a critical action was anathema to him.

He pattered over to the radar screen and had the crew scan above the atmosphere.

And sure enough, a high-speed object was traveling west almost over their location. In a very short time, it’d be out of range.

Goshiki was more shocked than he should have been. He didn’t stop to ponder the implications of the direction the missile was traveling— _away_ from Miyagi and _towards_ Tokyo—before he gave the next order: “Shoot that thing down!” The bridge crew faltered at the surprising command. “You heard me! Obliterate it!”

Moments later, Ennoshita and Shirabu were aghast when an anti-ballistic missile burst forth from the rear of the carrier barreling skyward in a westerly arc.

Goshiki returned to his phone call. “Done.”

“Good. I don’t care what he’s doing. Get Adm. Shirabu in there and let me speak to him.”

Goshiki ordered a call placed over the PA for Adm. Shirabu, and the message was issued at once. At last, the captain took a few moments to sigh. He hoped to get a good explanation for this when the admiral arrived, along with—he dearly hoped—commendation for his quick resolve.

“Captain! Our ABM was destroyed!” a crewmember urgently warned, announcing the anti-ballistic missile’s spontaneous interception long before it reached its target.

“What?!”

“Unidentified aircraft approaching from the west!” came the next alert.

“Whose?!” Goshiki shrieked. Their ship was well away from the battlefield, so it was strategically unlikely the Entente would send a lone aircraft. Even if they did, Tokyo was at peace with Shiratorizawa, so they weren’t theoretically in any danger.

Unless the approaching aircraft had shot down his missile—in which case, it could potentially do anything.

“It’s not responding to contact requests,” an operator advised. “It appears to be Entente.”

“Entente fighter has fired two projectiles!” came another dire update.

Now Goshiki froze. If an Entente aircraft was attacking, surely it would be directed at the Karasuno contingent to his side.

“ _Projectiles headed this way!_ ”

Under more pressure than he’d ever been, the captain gave the only, precarious, order he could.

“Shoot that plane down!”

As soon as the _Utsui_ ’s anti-air rockets let loose, the attacker’s own projectiles slammed into the side of the carrier long before the hulking vessel ever stood a chance of evading. Toppling over, Goshiki banged his head on the floor and slipped out of consciousness.

 

Swallowing his pride, Semi had made the desperate choice to come get Shirabu to attend to the dire matter ashore in Seijoh, but from a helicopter a short distance away, he beheld the next few moments with horror.

As he neared, he saw a smoke cloud in the distance but didn’t realize it was the anti-ballistic missile imploding from enemy fire. Then two consecutive explosions rattled Shirabu’s flagship. The pilot of Semi’s chopper pointed out the mad escape of a Nekoman fighter jet, weaving crisply to escape multiple rocket salvos. The jet’s maneuvers caused some of the pursuing missiles to collide; and in some cases, the jet weaved backward and shot down the projectiles.

When Karasunoan vessels released missile volleys in support of their attacked ally, the pilot’s luck finally ran out. A rocket clipped the jet’s wing, and moments later the other projectiles savaged the craft.

Nearby, a parachute popped open over the ocean.

“Follow that parachute!” Semi barked.

 

After the fighter jet’s rockets slammed the side of the carrier, all Shirabu remembered was being airborne.

Then he remembered the deep blue ocean beneath him.

Then he remembered something snagging his wrist and his body bluntly hitting the side of the hull.

Shirabu gaped upwards at the confessed spy Chikara Ennoshita gripping Kenjirou’s arm, his other hand dangling from the deck. Several feet to their side was a rope ladder.

“Grab the ladder when I swing!” Chikara yelled. Shirabu clasped both hands on Ennoshita’s forearm as the other man rocked him back and forth to build up momentum. Kenjirou leapt and barely clasped the rope. Ennoshita swayed himself to jump next, but when the damaged vessel lurched, Chikara’s fingers lost their grip. His jump misfired and he barely missed the ladder.

One moment later, he too was grabbed by the very naval officer he’d saved moments ago. Above them, calamitous metallic grinding preceded Ennoshita’s helicopter skidding off the deck as the vessel rolled too far toward the water. Chikara grabbed the rope ladder, and he and Kenjirou tightly pressed themselves against the hull as the chopper plummeted and cacophonously shattered against the waves.

“Come on!” Shirabu yelled before wrestling his way upward. Shirabu then helped Ennoshita onto the deck as the vessel leveled out.

“Thanks,” Chikara said.

“Returning the favor,” the admiral said curtly and scanned the area. While the ship stabilized, Shirabu definitely sensed a dominant lean toward the side the missiles had struck.

At the same time, he spotted the aerial puff of smoke where the attacking fighter had been and its pilot parachuting towards the sea. Overhead, Semi’s assigned helicopter whirred past, making a beeline for the ditching pilot.

“That’s great! Save the guy who tried to kill me and leave _me_ to die!” Kenjirou ridiculed angrily. He reined himself in. There were more important things right now. As the senior officer aboard, he needed to get to the bridge and know the situation. He wanted to interrogate the Karasunoan spy who’d revealed knowing about his connection to Yahaba, but now wasn’t the time. “Ennoshita was your name?”

Chikara warily beheld the admiral whom his government alleged was guilty of tasking Yahaba with hacking his government. He likewise wanted information from the admiral, but similarly pursuing that lead would have to wait until they weren’t in mortal danger.

“I have a duty to the sailors on this ship,” Shirabu continued. He marched beside Chikara and clasped his upper arm. “Once this situation has stabilized, we’re going to finish our conversation.”

 

Ennoshita followed the admiral to the bridge where they found the groggy Capt. Goshiki with a nasty bump on the head. Assuming command, Shirabu directed damage control efforts, until the ship’s list was too great and Kenjirou gave the order to abandon ship. He and a dutiful Ennoshita helped crews from the lower decks until it was too precarious to stand, and nearly a half-hour after impact, the admiral donned a lifejacket, handed one to Chikara, and guided him to the rim of the vessel.

“Can you swim?” Shirabu asked.

“Yes, sir,” Chikara replied. He bent his knees to propel himself from the deck, but before he could do so, Shirabu pressed a palm to his back and unceremoniously shoved Ennoshita off.

Shirabu following promptly, the pair splashed into the water, dyed orange in the twilight, the sun already beyond the horizon. Shiratorizawan and Karasunoan destroyers reeled in lifeboats and picked up stragglers. Semi’s helicopter with a search beam clattered overhead. The spotlight finally landed on Shirabu and held fast. From the blinding light a ladder unfurled down to their level.

“Climb up,” Kenjirou called to Ennoshita. Chikara gratefully complied, with Shirabu following.

It felt like he was climbing forever, but finally Ennoshita reached the cabin of the chopper. Chilly water dripping out of his hair and past his eyelids, he couldn’t make out Eita Semi staring flabbergasted. Ennoshita doggedly crawled into the craft and heaved exhaustedly. But as Shirabu entered the cabin, Semi forced Ennoshita prone, straddled him, and held a pistol to his head.

“What were you doing on that ship?!” he furiously blared.

“Leave him,” Kenjirou said calmly, drying his face with a towel in a corner.

“This guy works for Karasuno!” Eita objected.

“He saved my life. Now get off him.”

Eita snorted and clambered off Chikara. Shirabu flung a second towel to the Karasunoan.

“What happened on there?” Semi asked the admiral.

“Don’t know. We fired an ABM, but that fighter shot it down.”

“What?!” Semi shrieked. He didn’t give Kenjirou time to answer before frenziedly ripping open a door to a compartment used to store equipment. Occupying the otherwise empty closet at this moment was a man in a Nekoman Air Force uniform, his wrists bound with duct tape. “Why did you attack that ship?!”

The pilot, whose smooth yellow Mohawk looked unbefitting his position, beamed devilishly. “You attacked me first,” he boasted.

Semi tried to comprehend that statement before parsing it out in horror. This pilot had inadvertently been in the path of the rocket launched to intercept the ICBM and believed it was aimed at _him_ instead. For all intents and purposes, Shiratorizawa _had_ accidentally attacked the Nekoman plane.

“What’s going on?” Kenjirou insisted. Eita grabbed Shirabu’s shoulders in a panic.

“Seijoh has Yahaba! They fired an ICBM at the lab where Kenma is!”

Shirabu froze. Ennoshita gaped, trying to piece together all the information he could passively absorb. But the Nekoman prisoner was listening too, and what he said next cut through the cloud of despair enshrouding the Shiratorizawan officials.

“Did you say…Kenma?” All three in the cabin peered at the restrained airman. “That lab’s…gonna be destroyed? Then good riddance!!!”

Semi clasped the detainee’s lapels. “What do you know about Kenma?!”

“First you gotta tell me why you wanna know,” the captured combatant sneered.

Before Semi could continue, the helicopter’s pilot—oblivious to the conversations behind him—called out to Semi. “We are approaching the _Torono_. I told them the admiral is aboard, and they have a party to meet him on the deck.”

Ennoshita flinched recalling his original orders. He gaped at the Karasunoan aircraft carrier towards which they were descending, spotting its captain Kiyoko Shimizu and several armed naval personnel standing by.

“Don’t land!” Chikara shouted.

The pilot jumped and stopped the craft in place.

“What are you talking about?” Shirabu questioned.

“Adm. Shirabu, Shigeru Yahaba hacked my government. They are planning to arrest you in connection with it.” Noting Shirabu’s surprised reaction, Ennoshita turned to Semi. “But you’re saying _Seijoh_ has Yahaba.”

Eita grimaced. Chikara Ennoshita knew too much as it was, and now he had Shirabu’s piercing glare too.

“Semi, care to explain?” Shirabu nigh threatened. Grimacing, Eita reached in his pocket.

“The Chancellor Protection Unit raided a condo downtown. When I went to investigate”—he produced from his pocket the nonfunctional remains of Yahaba’s mission cell phone—“this was on the street outside.”

Shirabu was gone for 24 hours, and somehow in that time, his entire, neatly planned operation had suffered a supercritical meltdown.

“Admiral,” Chikara resumed, “the people holding Shigeru Yahaba have committed a crime against my country. My government may not be ready to listen to you, but”—he gulped—“I am willing to act as a go-between to convince them of your innocence if you are willing to disclose what is actually going on.”

“Not in your life!” Semi spat.

“Deal,” Kenjirou curtly contradicted.

“What?!” shouted Semi.

“Thank you for all you’ve done,” Shirabu said with hefty sarcasm, “but since you have not officially finished recovering, I remain in charge of this investigation, don’t I? And now that we are together again, your temporary command passes back to me.” He sent a piercing glare to his comrade. “And didn’t you just say it? The lab is about to be destroyed. There’s no point in protecting our operation.”

Their scheme to restore the glory of Shiratorizawa had failed, though Shirabu secretly wasn’t ready to give up on that dream entirely yet.

In the short term, however, he had a higher priority. “We need to make whoever’s responsible for this pay.” He faced Ennoshita. “Our cooperation is on the condition you tell me everything you and your government knows, understood?”

Shirabu actually didn’t expect to get everything but would take whatever he could, while Ennoshita reluctantly nodded, unsure how he’d guarantee that condition. Chikara pondered where to go next, and recalling the suspicions raised by his superiors in the CIB, Ennoshita realized if he could get to Saeko, they’d all be safe.

“Can we make it back to land on this chopper?” Ennoshita asked.

Shirabu eyed Semi who queried the cockpit. They had just enough fuel to reach their departure point, the city where both Semi and Saeko’s bases of operations were.

“I know a person who’d be willing to hear your side of the story,” Chikara said.

“All right then. Take us there,” Shirabu directed, and Semi ordered the chopper to make an aerial about-face.

After watching the ships’ lights disappear into the distance in the impending eve, Shirabu faced his new ally.

“You have a few minutes, Ennoshita, to think over what you’re going to tell me,” he said before he knelt in front of the Nekoman prisoner-of-war. The airman reeled, not liking the look of displeasure on the admiral’s face. “But first, I want to hear what _you_ know.”

The POW smirked. “Like I said, first ya gotta tell me why you wanna know.”

“Well, at least tell me your name,” Shirabu said calmly with a subtle air of lethality.

The detainee was taken aback. Finally he scowled:

“Taketora Yamamoto.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot happened this time. And as usual, I'm sure there are many questions. I'd love to hear the ones you most want to know the answer to. If you have any theories or just want to scream, sound off in the comments!
> 
> And also don't be afraid if you're a new reader to join the discussion mid-story. For me, it's always part of the fun!
> 
> Next chapter I'm aiming for mid-June (but I keep quietly changing the date when I reevaluate my schedule; currently I’m shooting for early June, and late May isn’t out of the question!)
> 
> And what is the next chapter? It's high time we find out what Futakuchi has been up to this whole time. :) What I will say now is this: I considered Chapter 4 a gamechanger. Chapter 6 will be the _real_ gamechanger.


	6. With No Way of Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Futakuchi simply ended up in the right place at the wrong time. And he had no way of knowing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter warning at the end of this note)
> 
> Welp, this chapter is the real gamechanger. This will also probably be the darkest chapter in terms of plot events. The timeline and character list will be updated on Saturday June 1st, 2019. Jog your memory of events spoiler-free until then here: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1r_PdCGsNdRtqyc9Ij08sQ-1-SNgEB3wi5eh4hodU2bQ/edit?usp=sharing
> 
> \--  
>  _Previously on the Kenma Project:_  
>  Shirabu: “Kenji Futakuchi: You were a counterfeiter and money launderer before the war, engaged especially in the smuggling of Tokyo migrants into Datekou. You arranged items such as identification documents, passports, cash, customs forms, and transportation services….”
> 
> Yahaba: “Shirabu made Futakuchi sound like a small-timer, but I looked him up. He’s actually connected to a few high-profile heists.”
> 
> Futakuchi: “Yahaba found another lead in the stuff Shirabu sent over, so I’m going to investigate that.”
> 
> Futakuchi: “Yahaba! I’ve got something!”  
> Shigeru’s lips quivered as he caught the penetrating gaze of Kyoutani….  
> Yahaba: “This is a bad time.”  
> Futakuchi: “It’s urgent!”  
> Yahaba: “…Gimme a minute.”
> 
> Daishou to Seguro: “Take Hiroo, Sakishima, and Takachiho to Nekoma and interrogate the guy from that apartment. I’ll deal with that pompous Air Force ace.”
> 
> Keiji ran his fingers over the rough surface of the photograph as he beseeched each person as his fingertips passed their visage.  
> Akaashi: “Fukunaga…Tora…Kenma…please forgive me.”  
> \--  
> (Chapter warning: character death)

**Monday November 9, approx. 5:00 p.m. Tokyo time** – _Nekoma_

Perusing Shirabu’s information on the Kenma Project, Yahaba found references to a certain location in the country of Nekoma; and triangulating several pieces of data, he identified an apartment that was in some way connected to the project. While Terushima would infiltrate Lab 3 in Fukurodani, Kenji Futakuchi’s job was to snoop inside the Nekoman residence.

After being dropped off on Fukurodani’s coast, Kenji made his way south into Nekoma via a migrant tunnel run by an old acquaintance. Then he commissioned another old associate to manufacture a key to the apartment while illegally acquiring a pistol. While his network once ran far and wide, his three years’ absence and effects of the war meant some of his former connections had dried up or moved on. Futakuchi irksomely realized that reintegrating himself to the underworld in peacetime would not be as easy as he assumed.

Fortunately, he had just enough favors saved up that, after a week of preparations, he was ready to break in to the apartment. The lessee, an accountant named Shouhei Fukunaga, was out of town until Wednesday. And so, on Monday afternoon—at the same time Terushima was sneaking into the innermost depths of Lab 3—Futakuchi entered the apartment.

Kenji quietly locked the door behind him. It was a modest, two-bedroom accommodation, not grotesquely large. He examined the space, from the gaudy line art on the walls to high school volleyball participation trophies proudly displayed on a shelf. Sifting through one of the kitchen drawers he found a gross stack of unopened mail addressed to a “Kenma Kozume.” Mostly junk, several bills were among the batch, stretching back months.

He checked out the bedrooms that adjoined the main living space. The master bedroom was left neatly in order before Fukunaga’s business trip. Then Futakuchi took an interest in the smaller bedroom, the door to which was closed. Though also neatly done up, the second bedroom didn’t feel as lived in as the first, eerily exuding the vibe of a show home—or even of the room of someone who had died.

On a dresser, Kenji noticed a framed photograph, depicting five college students.

If this was Kenma Kozume’s bedroom, Futakuchi wondered, and if he hadn’t been here in months, then where was he?

His pondering was shattered when the front door unlocked.

“Fleek,” Kenji whispered and plastered himself against the wall beside the dresser, resting one hand on the pistol in his belt. The new entrant innocently locked the door, dropped a suitcase in the entryway, and strolled into the kitchen. Kenji peeked around the threshold to behold the apartment’s unduly early owner in a business suit, stretching with a light groan.

Shouhei Fukunaga spotted the open drawer containing the mail and bumped it closed with his hip, only then wondering why it was open to begin with. He began to look around the apartment to make sure he was alone. Futakuchi withdrew into the room, in his panic knocking the dresser. The picture frame atop wobbled and, against Kenji’s desperate pleas, clapped face down on the wood.

Fukunaga jumped, looking at Kenma’s inexplicably open door. He stiffly tiptoed away and retrieved a frying pan from a drawer to attack the suspected intruder. Kenji’s shirt soaked through with sweat as he withdrew the handgun. He couldn’t hear the quiet compressions of the rug under Shouhei’s socks so cautiously peeked around the threshold.

The moment Shouhei saw a head tilting around the doorway, he raised the pan high and galloped with a scream imitating samurai movies.

Kenji ducked and dived through the doorway in front of his attacker. Before Shouhei could react, he stretched his leg and tripped the assailant who artlessly skidded across the carpet. Kenji then planted himself atop his foe, pressing both his wrists to the floor.

“Get off me! Get off me!” Fukunaga writhed, banging his feet against the floor.

“Shut up!” Kenji yelled.

“Where’s Kenma?!” Shouhei demanded.

“Who’s Kenma?” interrogated Kenji peevishly.

“What did you do with him?!” Fukunaga barked again, ignoring Kenji’s confusion.

“ _I_ didn’t do anything to him!”

“Let him go, you monsters!”

“Shut up and _listen to me_!!!” Futakuchi roared angrily. The ferocious bellow at last got Fukunaga to freeze and—with a mix of fear and confusion—peer up at his captor.

Now that he had his subject’s attention—“Who on earth is Kenma?” Kenji impatiently asked.

 

In a café at the base of a skyscraper across the street from his apartment, Shouhei Fukunaga inconspicuously ordered drinks with Kenji Futakuchi. Around them, citizens carrying on like normal despite the faraway war ate, chatted, or, like the man at the adjacent table, read the newspaper. Fukunaga felt guilty for charging at Futakuchi and soon surprised Kenji with how open he was willing to be about his friend Kenma.

Shouhei Fukunaga and Kenma Kozume met at Itachiyama University in Fukurodani two decades ago. Kenma had been living in Fukurodani since middle school as his dad did contract work for the military and was studying computer engineering. Fukunaga was an exchange student majoring in accounting. In college they befriended another exchange student—an ROTC mechanical engineering major named Taketora Yamamoto—and two native Fukurodanians: Koutarou Bokuto, studying physical therapy while playing collegiate volleyball, and Keiji Akaashi, with his sights set on genetic work. By coincidence, all five played volleyball in high school and quickly bonded over their shared experiences.

More recently, Kenma had lived with Fukunaga for much of the war after the former’s home was demolished to construct a military base. For almost as long, Kenma received monthly visits from Akaashi. Fukunaga would take Kozume to a local hospital and drive the latter home a few hours later. Every time, Kenma Kozume was almost comatose when Shouhei picked him up, but Kenma never complained about the effects on his body. Shouhei didn’t think it his place to pry further.

That state of affairs was the repeating monthly routine…until six months ago.

 

* * *

 

 **Six months ago** – _Nekoma_

In the very same café, the unassuming Shouhei loitered with a lukewarm cup of coffee when a sort of celebrity entered. The man wore full Air Force regalia, though his smooth yellow Mohawk well contradicted any look of refinement. Fukunaga was aware of glances and whispers from other customers. Fortunately Shouhei’s visitor wasn’t the kind of celebrity who got hounded for autographs, but his face was recognizable nonetheless thanks to their government’s rabid publicity: the visitor was the Entente’s top fighter ace and Nekoma’s “hero” of the war, Taketora Yamamoto.

Shouhei had dropped off Kenma for his monthly procedure at the district hospital before coming to the café. He and Yamamoto—who went by “Tora” with his friends—planned to chat, but Tora’s last PR engagement ran so long that as soon as he received a latte on the house, it was time to pick Kenma up.

“Kenma’s hurt?” Tora asked.

“No, he’s helping Akaashi with something.”

“Akaashi’s in town?” Yamamoto’s head tilted. The last time all of them had been together was two years ago.

At Bokuto’s funeral.

“How’s he doin’?” Tora asked.

“OK, I guess,” Fukunaga shrugged. “I don’t talk to him much. He’s doing something super top secret in Fukurodani, and I guess Kenma’s helping him on it? He comes every month, and I take Kenma to the hospital and pick him up. I’ve seen him a few times, but he always says he has to head home right away. He quit his job at the university by the way. He works for the government now.”

They parked outside the local hospital. Tora then got a call from the guy arranging his public appearances, so Fukunaga went in to get Kenma alone. Yamamoto finished the phone call when Shouhei stumbled back lugging their friend like a drunkard over his shoulder.

Fukunaga maneuvered the virtually unresponsive form of Kenma Kozume into the backseat. Tora gawped at his friend; Kenma’s vacuous pupils beheld Tora, but the man had no energy to acknowledge the passenger.

As soon as they started driving, Kenma fell asleep, as usual according to Fukunaga.

 

* * *

 

**The following day**

Kenma woozily forced himself awake in his bed where Shouhei had tenderly laid him and tucked him in. His head pulsed from the worst migraine of all time. Dressing in a black T-shirt and red boxers, he wobbled into the living room where a fully dressed Fukunaga and Tora, in only boxers and a sleeveless undershirt, were eating breakfast.

“Mornin’!” Tora yelled blithely with his mouth full of cereal. Kenma, neither prepared nor expecting to have visitors, flinched and ducked behind the bedroom threshold. “You don’t gotta hide your morning wood,” Tora offhandedly joked. “We’re all guys here.”

“Shut up!” screeched Kenma who slammed the door shut. He emerged a short time later now properly dressed. Fukunaga prepared cereal with milk and set it before Kenma’s chair. The man, with blond, uncut locks that grew out from an undyed black top, shuffled to the chair silently.

“I see you still keep trying to dye your hair. But it’s never gonna look good if you don’t keep it up, bruh!” Tora laughed, but Kenma didn’t respond. Fukunaga silently chewed on a cream-cheese-layered bagel. “Dude, everythin’ OK?” Tora asked of the silent meal guest.

“Hm?” Kenma shrugged. “Yeah.” He took a small spoonful of cereal and sipped the milk daintily. His stomach felt like it was in knots, and he didn’t think he’d be able to eat the dish in front of him.

“You looked awful yesterday. What’s that guy doin’ to ya?” Tora brashly asked. Fukunaga glanced between each speaker.

Kenma gave Yamamoto a nonchalant glance. “Huh? Nothin’. It’s just medical stuff.”

Tora eyed Kenma suspiciously when the man pushed the bowl away.

“I don’t feel well,” Kenma murmured.

“Get some rest. We can hang out later,” Shouhei reassured. Kenma shuffled past their guest and closed the door to his bedroom after him.

“What was that about?” Yamamoto asked Fukunaga.

“He’s always like that after he sees Akaashi. But he gets over it after a day or so. He’ll be totally back to normal in three days at the most.”

“What’s Akaashi doin’ to him to make him like that?”

“Kenma says he just draws blood and plasma and stuff.”

“You don’t act like _that_ after drawin’ blood,” Tora scoffed.

“All I really know is it’s for the war and Kenma won’t go into details.” Fukunaga never questioned it, even as deep down he harbored concerns about his friend’s wellbeing. At least, he told himself, Kenma never showed any long-term effects from the procedures.

 

* * *

 

**One week later**

When he wasn’t recovering from his monthly hospital trip, Kenma was everything Tora remembered him: shy, solitary, observant, and an avid gamer. They took a few outings, and Shouhei loved the peaceful time they could spend together. Kenma was constantly nervous that his incapacitation was causing him to lag in the MMOs he played, but as they traveled around town, he stuck to his portable consoles just like back in college.

Then, several days later, Akaashi called Kenma.

 

“Hey, um,” Kozume shyly mumbled to Fukunaga later that evening, “so: Akaashi’s coming back.”

“Really? It hasn’t been a month.”

“Yeah, uh, he says he has to take more samples now.”

Tora, on the couch watching the news and criticizing opinionated pundits who knew nothing of conditions at the frontline, stifled himself to hear the conversation behind him.

“I guess it’s gonna be a weekly thing now.” Kozume reflexively rubbed the back of his head.

“Oh, well, I guess I’ll just have to rearrange things with work so I can drive you more,” Fukunaga accepted.

“Yeah,” Kenma drooped. He hated putting Fukunaga through so much trouble. “I guess I’ll just have to quit playing Final Haikyuu Quest. I’ll never keep up with anyone now.”

Something changed in Tora, hearing Kenma morosely sacrificing his pastime. He strode upright, looking askance. “Why don’t you just tell him no?”

Shocked by the objection, Kenma shrank back. “Oh, well, I—”

Tora marched towards him. “You shouldn’t give up what makes you happy. I don’t get it, bruh.”

“Well, it’s, uh, it’s for the war….”

“What could be so important that you’d make yourself a _zombie_?!”

Shouhei quaked slightly at Tora’s blunt forcefulness.

“Well—”

“Why are you letting him treat you like that?!”

“He needs my blood!” Kenma finally reacted irritably.

“He can use someone _else’s_ blood!”

“This is what I want! You got a problem with that?!”

Tora flinched at the tetchy response, Fukunaga equally surprised.

“Why would you _want_ that?!” Yamamoto expostulated.

“He’s making better soldiers!”

Both Tora and Fukunaga distinctly jolted. Kenma sheepishly receded. He’d just said more than he was supposed to.

But Yamamoto guffawed tactlessly. “A _soldier_?! _You_?! You can’t be a _soldier_!”

“Don’t laugh!” Kenma protested.

“Cloning you to be a _soldier_?! Hah!”

“It’s not cloning,” Kenma meekly complained. But suddenly breaking his cackling fit, Tora slapped both hands on Kenma’s shoulders, his face forming a nearly maniacal smirk.

“Listen, bruh. If you’re tryna take my job away, lemme tell ya. I don’t _want_ you to,” he said with a gentle but forceful tease. “I _like_ my job. _No one_ can have it. So you better get that pretty little thought out of your head of tryna _protect_ me.”

Tora cackled mockingly. Kenma’s face glowed bright red, redder than Fukunaga had ever seen his roommate. Yamamoto released the boy who had been stunned into silence. Tora supported himself against the couch when his demeanor became grave once more.

“So, listen. I don’t like my friends suffering, so tell me: do you _like_ it?”

Kenma, still red in the face, took a few moments. Shouhei eagerly awaited an answer.

“No,” Kenma finally mumbled.

“No?” Tora repeated, half-unsure if that’s what Kenma had said. Kozume shook his head in agreement. “Then tell him you don’t want to do this anymore,” commanded Tora frankly.

“I can’t,” Kenma continued to mumble. Tora darted forward and caught his friend in a tight bear hug. Kozume’s blush returned just as strong.

“I don’t care what that guy’s doing. I don’t like the thought of one of my friends being hurt. And I _definitely_ don’t like the thought of one of my friends being the one doing it!” He faced Kenma squarely and jostled him. “Tell him you quit, and he has to find someone else. Do it for _me_ if not for yourself.”

Kenma’s eyes seemed to be tearing up. Tora shook him again to get a response.

“Y’hear me?”

Kozume gazed deeply at his friend’s perturbed, concerned face.

“Yeah,” Kenma squeaked and, without warning, began to sob. His face plopped on Tora’s chest and he sniffed, much to the surprise of both present. Tora became flustered with no idea what to do until he decided to just let Kenma be.

When Kozume finally withdrew, Tora resumed: “We’ll go with you tomorrow, so you can tell that guy that you’re done with this, all right?”

Kenma wiped his eyes with his sleeve and nodded. Both Shouhei and Tora watched him quietly resign himself to his room, where he collapsed on the bed and cried into his pillow.

 

* * *

 

**The following day**

The trio waited in the hospital lobby until Akaashi appeared, escorted to their surprise by a Nohebi Army officer named Suguru Daishou. Tora homed in on the Fukurodanian doctor immediately. Something about the man seemed off.

Immediately Keiji glided towards the fighter pilot he hadn’t seen in two years. “Tora, it’s so wonderful to see you.” Akaashi ensnared him in a hug that somehow felt cold and mechanical. Tora hesitantly returned it.

“Well, Kenma, let me explain to you the things that are changing,” Keiji said upon breaking the embrace. Kenma nodded and cast an unsteady glance at his cohorts. Tora nodded staunchly and Fukunaga fired a thumbs up of encouragement. Kenma inhaled deeply and followed Akaashi and Daishou out.

 

20 minutes later, Keiji and Kenma returned, the latter’s head drooping, Keiji wearing a smile as serene as it was unnatural. Tora and Shouhei stood with nervous perplexity.

Akaashi spoke. “Kenma tells me you have some concerns about what we’ve been doing.” Tora already dreaded where this was leading. “And to alleviate some of your worries, I’d like to invite you to see what really goes on—if you have the time, of course.”

Kenma shamefully avoided eye contact with his friends, feeling as though he’d let them down. Fukunaga and Yamamoto were silent at first.

Tora snarled at the glibly smiling Akaashi.

 

An hour later, Yamamoto and Fukunaga stood outside a window looking into an operating room. Inside, Akaashi and a fellow researcher named Wataru Onaga had restrained Kenma’s wrists and ankles to a surgical table. Kenma lay limply, staring with ennui at the ceiling. Lt. Daishou stood by with an assault rifle; and in the hall, Daishou’s deputy Sgt. Akihiko Seguro, also brazenly armed, guarded the door to the side of Shouhei and Tora. Though allegedly meant to reassure them, each step observed through the glass just made the onlookers more anxious. IVs were brought out, and Kenma was hooked up to various tubes with vitals displayed on different monitors.

“Are you ready?” Keiji finally said, holding a needle for drawing blood.

Kenma’s breathing and heartrate were elevated. He tried mentally telling himself to remain calm, but doing so only made him more self-aware of how irregular his breaths were.

“Yeah,” he lied, not mentally ready at all. He never was; he simply wanted to get it over with.

Then Akaashi inserted the needle into the concave side of his elbow. Fukunaga and Tora quietly observed the different fluids that filled containers over numerous draws the next several minutes, both astonished by the sheer amount of liquid being removed. Tora thought it shouldn’t be humanly possible.

“All right. Another one. You doing ok?” Keiji asked after the fifteenth sample.

Kenma breathed heavily but measuredly. “Yeah,” he huffed. Akaashi felt uncertain with the answer, but he persevered and inserted another needle. Kenma winced. Tora’s fist angrily tightened.

As more and more fluids filled the tubes and Dr. Onaga constantly hooked up more empty cylinders, Keiji again took note of his patient, gritting his teeth and groaning faintly.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” It was the first real hint of concern on the scientist’s face. Kenma’s reaction today was not normal at all.

Kenma grimaced but told himself the pain bubbling throughout his body would subside if he soldiered through it. “Keep goin’,” he forced himself to say, his lips abrasively dry. Keiji hesitated but inserted another needle at the patient’s request.

This time, Kenma violently convulsed.

And then, as the fluid began to depart Kenma’s body, the pain became instantly unbearable, and he let out an earthshattering scream.

“Kenma!” Keiji cried, clasping the man’s jerking body.

Tora acted on instinct. Startled by the commotion, Seguro wasn’t paying attention when Tora dashed past him to get into the adjacent room.

“You can’t be in here!” Daishou screamed at the intruding Yamamoto and pointed his machinegun. Not frightened by the assault rifle for a second, Tora unceremoniously slugged Daishou in the face and ran to the writhing Kenma.

“Kenma! Kenma!” he screeched, Akaashi stunned by the pilot’s presence. He then spotted Daishou scrambling upright, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

“You’ll pay for that!” Suguru growled and, to Keiji’s horror, aimed his weapon.

“No!” Akaashi yelled viscerally. As if in a trance and with no regard for his own safety, Akaashi bounded between Tora and Daishou, his arms wide like a crucifix. Daishou faltered and didn’t fire.

And then, all of a sudden, the patient passed out.

“Kenma?” Tora said in fear. He rattled the boy’s shoulders. “Hey, Kenma, wake up!”

“He’s unconscious,” Onaga, analyzing his vitals, announced.

“Kenma! Listen to me! Wake up!” Tora continued to yell.

Both Fukunaga and Sgt. Seguro, now in the room, gawked. Akaashi shakily steadied himself against the end of the table, Tora eliciting the only noise in the room.

 

* * *

 

**The following day**

Akaashi promised he would talk to Tora and Shouhei the following day. He showed up at the latter’s apartment in business attire, but immediately the casual mood was demolished by the looming presence of Daishou and Seguro, both heavily armed, flanking the doctor.

Kenma was not with them.

“I don’t have much time,” Akaashi said after taking a proffered seat. Tora sat backwards on a dining room chair and Fukunaga sank apprehensively into the couch.

“Where’s Kenma?” Yamamoto immediately questioned.

Akaashi took a deep breath. “He and I talked about this before the procedure, but Kenma is coming back with me to Fukurodani.”

“What?!” Tora exclaimed, shooting to his feet. Daishou instinctively raised his gun at the loose cannon who’d punched him yesterday.

“Kenma agreed to this beforehand,” Akaashi anxiously added.

“He’s OK?” Fukunaga asked.

“He will be. I’m positive,” he said with slight hesitation.

“He _will_ be?!” Tora thundered.

“I’m sorry, but just know that this is what Kenma wants.”

 _What Kenma wants_. If not for his tearful confession the other night that he _didn’t_ want it, Tora and Fukunaga might have been more persuadable.

“Shut up!” Tora impugned. “Kenma told us how he really feels, so don’t give me that bull!”

“I could play a melody on a lyre like you!” Fukunaga pointedly said with an obscure pun. Tora’s rage momentarily flagged in the face of the incomprehensible statement. Keiji involuntarily smirked when he figured out the wordplay.

“Want me to wipe that grin off your face?!” Tora upbraided. Daishou readied his assault rifle to shoot as necessary. Fukunaga leaped to hold back Tora, but the sudden movement prompted Seguro to aim his own firearm at the latter, frightening Shouhei back into sitting down.

“I’m afraid I have a flight, so I can’t stay,” Akaashi said, perfunctorily standing.

“Tell me!” Tora demanded. “Why on earth would Kenma want to subject himself to that, huh?!” He glared ferociously at the man he no longer felt he knew. Keiji had the look of a deer in the headlights, debating how to respond.

Everything was indeed with Kenma’s consent. But as much as Keiji wanted to assuage their fears, he wasn’t at liberty to divulge the reason why.

Only Kenma had the right to disclose his reasoning.

“Doc, we gotta go,” Daishou hurried. Keiji took the chance to march to the door.

“If you walk out that door, consider our friendship _over_!” Yamamoto threatened viciously. Keiji fearfully gazed back.

“Doc!” Daishou demanded.

And Keiji Akaashi abruptly scuttled out of the space.

 

While Tora banged his fists against the wall, through the window Fukunaga spied the doctor and his guards entering a dark green sedan out front. It sped away promptly.

They had no way of knowing it, but despite his attempts to control himself, Akaashi was bent forward in the car, his face in his palms, crying irrepressibly over his dearest friends.

 

* * *

 

**Present**

“That was the last time I saw Akaashi or Kenma,” Fukunaga concluded. A few days after Keiji’s departure, the doctor phoned Fukunaga up. Fukunaga expected an apology and real explanation, but instead the Fukurodanian pretended like nothing had happened. Akaashi made one meager acknowledgment of the brokenness he’d caused, offering a tour of his lab in a renewed attempt to reassure them Kenma was fine.

Tora had returned to active duty the day after Akaashi left. As much as Shouhei wanted to do something for Kenma, the frightened Shouhei used the excuse he was too busy with work to go abroad.

The final episode in the saga occurred a few weeks ago. Yamamoto earned home leave again for more publicity appearances. When Shouhei told him Akaashi’s offer, Tora instantly called the scientist up and said he’d take it.

“I’m going to save Kenma,” Tora asserted immediately upon hanging up. Yamamoto left the next day…

…And never returned to Nekoma. His appearances were quietly, abruptly canceled. For two days Fukunaga feared the worst until Tora finally called him.

“I’m not coming back,” he had said quietly, apprehension pervading his voice. He offered no explanation and added the most haunting words of all: “ _You’ll_ have to save Kenma, bruh.”

 

Shouhei expectantly turned his attention to Futakuchi sitting opposite.  “So you’re going to save Kenma and Tora, right?” he beseeched.

Kenji shrank back. “Saving” anyone wasn’t part of his mission.

But Futakuchi didn’t care. His career helping migrants leave Tokyo for opportunities abroad was all for the sake of giving hope to people trapped in impossible circumstances by forces beyond their control. The story he had just heard—as atypical as it was—was no different. The fate that had befallen the three hapless Nekomans all because of the Tokyo Entente’s project was beyond fair.

Kenji had already made up his mind. He’d save these three _and_ accomplish his mission.

“Of course. I’ll save you and your friends,” he answered.

All the burdens on Shouhei’s shoulders lifted instantly. “Thank you.”

“Listen,” Kenji said, “I need to make arrangements, and it’s too dangerous for us to be seen together. Go back home, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow—9 o’clock, let’s say. Then I’ll keep you safe.”

Fukunaga nodded gratefully. The pair rose and proceeded out the door.

Before parting ways on the sidewalk though, Fukunaga turned to his savior one last time.

“Actually, I have one more request….”

 

Back inside the café, the man at the adjacent table flipping through various newspapers during the duo’s conversation now set down the tabloid he was studying. He intently eyed the pair through the café window, after having eavesdropped on their entire exchange.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Kenji got back to the place he was renting, he immediately called Yahaba, not caring that it was midnight across the ocean.

“ _H-hello?_ ” Yahaba answered with a stutter. Kenji ignored it.

“Yahaba! I’ve got something!” he bellowed.

Shigeru replied with hesitation in his voice. “This is a bad time.”

“It’s urgent!” Kenji again insisted.

There was a nerve-racking pause before Yahaba finally muttered: “Gimme a minute.”

It didn’t take long for Yahaba to get onboard with what Futakuchi was saying. The Kenma Project evidently depended on continually acquiring the DNA of Kenma Kozume. Why was irrelevant for their purposes; what mattered was that, if they could get Kenma Kozume away from the Entente’s scientists, then the project would most likely stall. Shigeru promised to vet Fukunaga’s story before the morning. Kenji accepted it as a necessary precaution. He himself then went about arranging transportation for himself and four persons.

Yes, _four_ persons, not three, after Shouhei’s surprising, last-minute request:

“I want to save Akaashi too.”

Despite everything, Fukunaga still held out hope for the scientist he’d known for decades, insisting Akaashi had changed for the worse since his spouse’s death and convinced his current behavior was because he’d never gotten over it. Futakuchi felt sorry for Fukunaga. And despite the difficulties it could cause, he’d do whatever was in his power to save Keiji Akaashi too.

 

* * *

 

**Tuesday November 10, approx. 7:00 a.m. – 2 hours before Yahaba’s arrest, 6 hours before the sinking of the _Utsui_**

Unable to sleep, Shouhei found himself pacing, pondering, and panicking at various times throughout the night. The nighttime news of the Miyagi Alliance’s new offensive in Datekou kept him occupied further. Everything was suddenly so surreal, and before he knew it, his constantly interrupted attempts at packing his suitcase outlasted Tokyo dawn.

Around 7 in the morning, Shouhei had refitted his travel case with clothes and sentimental possessions. It was hard to believe that, just yesterday, the same suitcase had been used for his curtailed business trip.

Checking his email yesterday morning, he’d received an anonymous correspondence telling him to come home that day, if he wanted to help his “friend.” Shouhei fretted it was a trap, but he steeled himself and bit the bullet, flying back immediately.

Thus, when Shouhei encountered Kenji in his apartment, he naturally assumed Futakuchi was the one who’d sent the email. He had no way of knowing that Kenji had nothing to do with the person who was trying to reach him, nor could Futakuchi know that somebody else had been trying to contact Fukunaga. Ironically, the two simply ended up in the right place at the wrong time.

Satisfied that packing was done, Fukunaga chose to take one last look at Kenma’s room for posterity. He noticed the picture frame Kenji accidentally knocked over lying face down.

It had been Shouhei’s idea to commemorate their last year of college—Kenma, Tora, and Bokuto graduating, Shouhei returning to Nekoma for his Master’s, and Akaashi starting grad school at Itachiyama—with a group photo. On commencement day, he touchingly gifted each of them a copy. Kenma, almost unsurprisingly, summarily lost his during his move, inspiring Fukunaga to digitize a copy that he uploaded to social media so Kenma could have one in spirit. When Kozume moved in with Shouhei after the outbreak of war, Kenma noticed the framed photo that Fukunaga still displayed twenty years later. Shouhei gave it to Kenma to put in his room.

Fukunaga set the picture frame at the top of his open suitcase and admired the glimmering faces: Bokuto’s silly grin, Akaashi’s temperate smile, Tora’s dopey beam, his own gentle smirk, and Kenma’s hard-pressed un-photogenic frown.

Now there was just one more matter to resolve.

What Shouhei hadn’t said last night was that, during Tora’s final phone call two weeks ago, he left a phone number. “If there’s an emergency, call that number and ask for ‘the tiger.’” Tora hung up in a rush. Fukunaga had never attempted it and even hesitated now, but seeing the happy portrait of the five friends, he dialed.

“ _Colonel Akama,_ ” answered a voice authoritatively. Fukunaga jumped. _Colonel?!_ What phone number did Tora give him?

“Uh, can I speak to the tiger?” he trembled. The officer’s reaction was beyond cordial.

“ _Are you aware we are in the midst of a military emergency?! I don’t have time for—_ ” There was silence, and then another voice, taking the phone, spoke:

“ _Yo._ ”

“Tora!” Fukunaga cried.

“ _What are you doin’ callin’ me?!_ ” Yamamoto remonstrated.

“Uh, you said if there was an emergency, I—”

“ _What do you want?_ ” he curtly interrupted.

“I, uh, I met someone—who will help save Kenma. And you too!”

There was a pause, and then Yamamoto in shock stumbled over every word that popped into his mind. “ _Wha—Are you—How—Dude! I ju—Just be careful, OK?! That’s great news, but be careful!_ ” He hung up suddenly.

That hadn’t gone how Shouhei envisioned it. But he’d done what he needed to do. Now he’d help Futakuchi in every way he could.

Unfortunately, like Fukunaga and Futakuchi last night, someone else at this moment happened to be in the right place at the wrong time.

“That was easier than I thought,” announced an intruder. Shouhei twisted around to find Sgt. Akihiko Seguro wielding a handgun, blocking the room’s exit. Filtering into the space around him were Kouji Hiroo, Isumi Sakishima, and Yoshiya Takachiho in Nohebi Army uniforms. “I expected we’d have to torture you, but nope. You and that pilot _have_ been conspiring all along.”

“No,” Shouhei begged as Sakishima and Takachiho each grabbed an arm. Fukunaga’s knees collapsed in despair.

All of his hope of rescuing Kenma or seeing his friends again vanished.

He prayed that Futakuchi would accomplish what he couldn’t.

“What do we do with this one?” Takachiho asked.

“Simple,” said Seguro as he prepped his pistol to fire. “Daishou said if we confirm he’s a rat, liquidate him.”

 

* * *

 

**Tuesday November 10, 9:00 a.m. – 4 hours before the sinking of the _Utsui_**

Yahaba finally got back to Futakuchi an hour and a half ago to report Fukunaga’s story checked out, and now Kenji waited in the driver’s seat of his rental car outside Shouhei’s building.

Futakuchi waited.

9:10 passed.

9:15.

He began to get worried.

A few minutes later, he exited the car and proceeded upstairs cautiously.

His heart sank when he found Shouhei’s apartment unlocked.

Closing the door behind him, he drew his handgun and tiptoed through the house. The living room and the kitchen were clear. So was the bedroom belonging to Kenma.

When he peered in the master bedroom, he grimaced.

“Ah, fleek.”

A pistol in one hand, Shouhei was laid out to look like he’d taken his own life, but Kenji knew better.

This was bad. He’d been compromised.

He had to warn Yahaba.

 

**That very moment**

When the first agent from Seijoh’s Chancellor Protection Unit entered, Kyoutani heaved one of the dining chairs onto his head.

Yahaba dashed into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Then, one gunshot.

Then another.

And suddenly, at the thought of the man he loved, Shigeru’s desire to flee completely wilted.

His phone snapped him out of his funk almost instantly when it buzzed in his palm. The caller ID was Futakuchi’s.

 _Dang it!_ , he swore internally. _Why do you always have to call at the worst time?!_

He dashed to the window and with a fell swoop hurled the device from the 10th-floor residence down to the street below. It exploded into a hundred pieces upon hitting the road, even the SIM card inside snapping in two.

 

“Come on, pick up! Pick up!” Futakuchi yelled into the receiver as it continued to ring.

Then, after the fourth ring, an automated female voice piped up: “ _The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service._ ”

“What?!” Futakuchi shrieked and dialed again.

This time, there was no ring. “ _The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no long—_ ” Futakuchi hung up as a terrifying realization washed over him.

He was on his own.

Quickly Kenji fled to his car. He drove around the city, bound for nowhere in particular. Illogical turns were made without rhyme or reason, all to confirm one fact in his rearview mirror:

He was being followed.

Sgt. Seguro occupied the front passenger seat of the swamp green sedan tailing the man they suspected of being Fukunaga’s accomplice. After unsuccessfully trying to lose his tail, Futakuchi pulled up to an abandoned power station. Hiroo, driving the other vehicle, skidded alongside, and Sakishima unleashed his assault rifle into the cab of Kenji’s car. Kenji swooped to the ground as bullets zipped overhead. He madly dashed into the building.

“Get him!” Seguro shouted.

The disused plant still boasted piping, grungy containers, and rusted turbines, providing more than a few hiding spots. A catwalk encircled the space high above. Kenji took a few moments to breathe, acutely listening to the ruckus made by his pursuers entering the derelict building. As long as he could hide, he had a chance to escape.

And then, his phone rang obnoxiously.

Kenji silenced the ringer immediately and flipped the device to vibrate.

“Over there!” Seguro yelled in reaction to the ringtone. Kenji sprinted to a new hiding place.

As soon as he took off running, his phone buzzed in his palm with a new phone call. Kenji angrily read the display:

 _Restricted_.

It wasn’t Yahaba. He silenced the call, but his phone vibrated again. Kenji hung up once more.

The caller dialed again, and Kenji silenced it again.

The caller hit redial again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Ducking behind a crate, Kenji silenced the buzzing once more, but sure enough, the incessant dialer called once more. His patience exhausted, Kenji irritably answered.

“What do you want?!” he whisper-yelled.

The voice that replied was suave and cocky. “ _Kenji Futakuchi?_ ”

Kenji froze, trying to process who the mysterious caller could be. He didn’t think the speaker’s accent hailed from either Tokyo or Miyagi.

“Are you the ones who killed Fukunaga?” he whispered, asking the only question he could think of.

The caller’s reply just added to his confusion. “ _Nah, that wasn’t me. I’m the one who’s about to save yer life._ ”

Futakuchi flinched, but at that moment Akihiko Seguro appeared pointing a handgun at Kenji. Futakuchi expected the end.

And then, suddenly, there was a light swoosh as something from high up quietly passed through Seguro’s skull. Seguro wobbled, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he flopped to the floor.

“Sarge!” shrieked Sakishima.

There was a faint zipping noise, followed by Sakishima landing with a thud. Hiroo was next to be felled mysteriously. Takachiho dashed to the exit, but before he escaped, there was another zip sound, and he gurgled and skidded on the floor.

After several moments of silence, Kenji warily peeked around the side of the crate.

Seguro’s subordinates were all splayed on the floor. A sniper had felled each of them, but Kenji was too high-strung to figure that out. He peered at the phone in his hand.

The stranger had hung up.

Now Kenji’s attention was drawn to the metallic friction sounds above. Four men in all black, with ski masks and tactical gear, each carrying sniper rifles outfitted with silencers, levitated from the catwalk to the floor by zip lines. As Kenji wobbled upright, one of the armed men checked Seguro’s pulse. Two others sprinted to inspect the other three soldiers. The last one, seemingly their leader, halted before Kenji.

Futakuchi had no way of knowing it, but the man in front of him, who was supposed to have met Fukunaga last night, had been sitting in the café with newspapers, listening to his and Shouhei’s chat.

Nor could he know that the same man, two nights ago, had helped Tetsurou Kuroo go into hiding.

Nor could he know that the very same man three weeks ago had tried to kill Eita Semi.

“Uh, thanks,” Kenji mumbled. The evidently highly trained soldier stared through the ski mask with cold, stoic eyes. The soldier checking Seguro’s vitals sauntered behind Futakuchi. The operative lifted his sniper rifle in the air and rammed the butt of it into Kenji’s skull. Futakuchi blacked out immediately.

Surveying the unconscious man for a second, the foursome’s leader picked up Kenji’s phone and then extricated his face from the ski mask with a gasp of relief, shaking his head to tousle his mask-flattened silver hair. Then on his own phone he dialed the man who called Futakuchi moments earlier.

“ _Yes?_ ”

“Tsumu, we got the Shiratorizawan spy.”

“ _Awesome, Samu. Bring ’im to Fukurodani. We’re leavin’ tonight._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, I did that. If it helps, maybe try digesting the first and second halves of the chapter separately...
> 
> I got this chapter out almost a month earlier than planned. I'm pushing for Chapter 7 to come in the weekend of July 27th/28th though, because June was exceptionally busy. However, I'm working on the chapter very steadily. Chapter 8 I'm hoping will be out at the end of August.
> 
> In the meantime, thank you for reading and please leave your thoughts!
> 
>  **Update 29 June** : On tumblr I've posted a preview of the new chapter. Follow this link and try to decipher the conversation: https://stylinbreeze60.tumblr.com/post/185941862333/the-kenma-project-ch7
> 
> I'd like to have a Kenma Project-related reward for the person who comes closest to decoding the conversation.~ Send guesses via tumblr, discord, FFN private message, or whatever platform works for you. (You can send me things anon, but unless I know who you are, you won't be able to "claim" your prize. Sorry. :/ )

**Author's Note:**

> Go here for a Google spreadsheet with timeline of events, map, and character list: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1r_PdCGsNdRtqyc9Ij08sQ-1-SNgEB3wi5eh4hodU2bQ/edit?usp=sharing (file may not display correctly on mobile devices).
> 
> The timeline and character list will be updated with the most recent events and reveals roughly one week after each new chapter goes live.


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